


Noble Sentiments

by CarolNJoy



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: 18th Century, Character Study, Disney, Drama, F/M, Falling In Love, France (Country), Historical, Love, Love/Hate, Nobility, Off-screen Relationship(s), Origin Story, Pre-Canon, Pre-Movie(s), Romance, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 19:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 73,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6871279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolNJoy/pseuds/CarolNJoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Book I: After a forbidden love affair goes awry, the Chantemerle send their daughter, Babette, to the province's château to teach her a lesson. There, the aristocrat-turned-maid begins a tumultuous relationship with the castle's casanova, the maître d'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Night in the Life

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> This is a pre-curse story on how Babette and Lumière from Disney's Beauty and the Beast met. In other renditions I've read, Babette is a maid all her life, or in one particularly notable story, she starts off as a showgirl in a Parisian nightclub. I decided that I had a different story to tell in the idea: What if Babette was born an aristocrat?
> 
> My goals were to create a love story that progressed realistically and spurred development in the characters involved. I also wanted to provide a different aspect of both Lumière and Babette while keeping them true to how other fans and I have always believed them to be.
> 
> Let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy!

_Prologue: Introductions_

When it comes to love, people try to seek it.

As the wiser already know, finding true love is not that easy. Love is a complicated subject to even describe, so it is not going to be any easier to find it. Love chooses to bestow its grace on unsuspecting people, the people who weren't searching for it, or wanting it to come to them. It tests your limits, drives you mad, makes you want to be as free as you feel. It is a feeling, an emotion, a drive. It is a sixth sense. It makes you aware of that one person that fate picked for you. Love is never a choice, a decision you make yourself when you feel you are ready. Love knows when you are ready.

Love finds you.

* * *

Someone entered the tavern. A few men drinking by the doors glanced up, but only saw a cloaked figure, the hood pulled down over her eyes so all they saw was a button nose and a dark mark above the left side of her ruby red lips.

Not finding the woman familiar, the men shrugged and went back to their tankards and conversations.

It was not until she walked past the tables to the bar that she unclasped her cloak and removed the hood. She set the cloak aside on the stool to her left. With the aura of mystery removed, some of the men looked over. They nudged their friends and began referring to her in recognition, but soon resumed their conversations.

She adjusted the skirt of her black muslin dress before sitting down, which still drew as much attention as her bright silk and lace gowns, to her disgruntlement. Of course, what did she expect when she was a walking scandal?

Thankfully, the bartender had more dignity. "Anything for you, mademoiselle?" he asked politely, like he would to anyone else.

Her hand strayed to the opal hair comb in her tresses. "Just an ale, please."

On the other side of the tavern, one particular man was admiring her from the back corner booth. " _Mon Dieu_ , you do not see a woman like that every day."

His friend beside him followed his stare. "I agree. So go talk to her."

"I took the initiative with the last girl who walked in. It is your turn, _mon ami_."

"You found her first. You should be the one."

"No, no, no," the man with a bewitching lopsided smirk argued. "It has been too long since I have seen you try to charm a woman, Nicolas. Watching you would be much more entertaining."

"Lumière, honestly, go talk to her. She does not seem my type anyway."

Lumière shrugged. "If you insist."

As he stood up to walk over to her, another man was approaching her. Lumière immediately sat back down, disappointed.

"Apparently, we are not the only men on the lookout," Nicolas observed.

As the girl waited for her drink, a smooth voice behind her inquired, "Do you mind if I sit here?"

She turned to see a dashing young man with jet black hair tied back in a cue, and a chiseled chest that she could make out through his plain white shirt, along with his biceps. Green eyes sparkled at her. His hand rested on the stool next to hers.

She looked at him, a small smirk playing on her lips to mirror his. "Does it look like I would mind?"

"No, but one has to ask."

"Being the gentleman tonight?"

He sat down, taking her hand and kissing it.

"I suppose that would answer my question," she said, her smile widening.

He grinned back. "May I introduce myself?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Do you really need my permission?"

"As you said, I am being the gentleman tonight."

The bartender slid her mug to her waiting hand, and she took a large sip.

"Honestly," she emphasized with the stomp of her mug, "I do not want a gentleman tonight."

He chuckled, intrigue brightening his gaze. "Then I can adjust."

She smiled at him again with an interest. "That is what I like to hear."

"I am Alphonse," he revealed.

"Babette."

" _Enchanté_ ," he murmured, kissing her hand again.

"Likewise," she replied, contemplating him over the rim of her glass.

He watched her also. "I am sorry, but what is a beautiful woman like you doing in a place like this?"

"Believe it or not, to me it is quite refreshing." She gestured with her mug. "Not counting the drinks."

He let out a laugh and pointed a thumb to the drinking, guffawing men behind him. "You mean to tell me you find these people refreshing?"

"Trust me. They are better than what I have to deal with during the day." She took another sip from her ale.

Alphonse leaned a little more onto the bar. "I would love to hear about your day then."

Her lips puckered into a charming pout before she retorted, "I come here to get _away_ from what I deal with all day!"

"Could you speak about it... vaguely?"

She sighed, but was pleased by his curiosity. "Let me simply say that everyone I am forced to meet is stiff, over-polite, and infuriatingly boring."

He raised a confused eyebrow. "Forced?"

"Oui. I would never speak to these people otherwise."

He grinned, confirming with a nod, "Now I understand. That would drive me to the tavern, too."

"Do not worry," she smirked, glancing at him from the side. "My nights are considerably better."

"I cannot believe I almost missed you coming in," Alphonse reflected in soft awe.

"That was the point, actually. I do not want to draw too much attention to myself in here."

"For you, it must be very difficult."

Babette smiled, but elaborated, "The reason is someone might recognize me. Then I would be in some very deep trouble."

"Not allowed in the tavern?" he guessed.

She paused as she thoughtfully drank, then replied, "You could say that."

"What, is there more?"

"I am not allowed out of the house."

He whistled. "Every answer brings more questions."

"I like to keep them questioning," she admitted with unabashed mischief.

"And I would love to continue to ask," Alphonse affirmed, regretfully rising from his seat. "But I have a… meeting to attend."

Babette looked up at him from under her long lashes. "Ah, so soon?"

"Unfortunately." Taking deliberate pains, he brought her hand to his lips. "It has been a great pleasure." He watched her curiously. "Perhaps we will meet again."

"Of course."

He gracefully bowed, and a certain shine glinting in his eye made Babette's heart contract. "Adieu, Babette."

"For now." And she watched him depart, eyes never leaving his back until the door shut behind it.

As she finished the last of her drink, Babette could not help but wonder about Alphonse. She had met many different men in this very tavern and on the streets in broad daylight, but something about this one was unique. Oh, she hoped they met again soon.

"Look, that man left," Nicolas pointed out.

Lumière glanced up from swirling the wine in his glass, but flicked a hand. "Ah, the moment's passed."

Caught slightly off-guard, Nicolas eyed him for am moment. "You do not at least want to find out her name?"

"If you want to ask her, be my guest."

Giving up, Nicolas asked, "Is something else occupying your thoughts?"

Lumière grimaced. "A girl… back at the château."

Nicolas rolled his eyes. "Of course. What was I thinking?"

Babette checked the clock over the fireplace, and noticed it was getting late. Her parents would be worried… and angry.

She did not want to leave! This was the only time she could be surrounded by normal, workaday people. She did not have to try and make a good impression, to give a pretty smile to everyone she greeted and spoke to, or even to pretend to act like she knew and remembered anybody. She never had to explain herself to these good bourgeoisie. They didn't ask what she was doing here or why. They let her mind her own business. She felt more at home among these men than with her own kin, the rich and proud: the nobles.

More like the stuck-up and humorless, with their cravats and corsets so tight they could not even laugh if they wanted to. It was so unnatural! And they were as two-faced as the god, Janus. To be polite to a person and then gossip about them behind their back was to blatantly be dishonest. Having been forced to come to the drawing room after dinner, Babette had heard from enough aristocrats that this was a common trait.

This was why she left the house so often. Her parents thankfully understood why also, because they were among the few nobles who thought rationally, and had a clear understanding that gossip creates a bad reputation.

What her parents did not approve of was what she did when she left the house, and she left it much too often as well. Babette entertained herself with the many handsome men that crossed her path, which her parents have deemed highly inappropriate, especially for one of noble birth.

But she did not want to stop, and she found it much too addicting. The men she met were a breath of fresh air to the stuffiness of the high class. So much satisfaction came from teasing them until she announced her game of hard-to-get over with a multitude of kisses.

The problem was that it was not fun with only one monsieur. There was something new in every boy she played with. She would then find another man after a couple of days, during which Babette would stay at home those nights to reassure her parents. After that, the boy would have moved on and so had she…

Nicolas said after a moment's silence, "To be honest, I am surprised you are letting one girl get to you."

Not seeming to hear this, Lumière inquired, his thin brows furrowed, "Do you think I am afraid of commitment?"

Nicolas looked at him strangely. "What are you talking about?"

Lumière rolled his eyes, explaining, "The girl at the château. That is what she told me… quite angrily, in fact."

His friend leaned back in his seat, pondering. "Well, you have to admit, your actions prove it true."

"I am not _afraid_ of it," Lumière corrected, setting his wine glass down. "It simply is not appealing to me right now."

"Then there is your answer."

"But this girl made it seem like I am a horrible person because of it, and now I cannot help but wonder."

"I say, you have had too much wine," Nicolas chuckled, moving Lumière's glass away from him.

Lumière smiled. "Of course! I am never this sentimental without a few glasses." He glanced back at the mademoiselle all alone at the bar. "That poor girl needs company."

Just as he stood up again, the woman was putting on her cloak to leave and she was gone as quickly as she had come.

Lumière threw his hands into the air. "That is that! My night is officially over," he lamented as his friend laughed at his misfortune.

* * *

_Chapter One: A Night in the Life_

_October, 1739_

At eight-thirty in the evening, Babette quietly slipped out of her room, shutting the doors with a faint click. Constantly glancing behind to check no one was watching her, she made her way through the marble-paneled halls in silence. Soon, she was at the top of the grand staircase. As she crept down the steps, she could hear her parents talking with fellow nobles in the drawing room off the foyer about whatever had almost put Babette to sleep during dinner.

Babette sneaked past the doors left ajar to the drawing room on her tiptoes, making a few glances around to make sure no servants popped in unexpectedly. Her progress to the front doors went unnoticed and, with a smile gradually growing on her lips, she slipped through them with ease and shut them with as much care as possible.

She grasped her skirts and made her way across the manicured lawn and drive to the front gates swiftly in the light of dusk, closing them carefully as well as she locked them with her key so no more than a small creak broke the quiet of La Clayette. Regularly checking her surroundings for townspeople taking a nighttime stroll, Babette walked briskly down the sidewalk in her leather flats that didn't make a sound on the cobblestone. It only took a few minutes for her to finally be under the cover of night, where she only had the light from windows in the apartments above the various shops that bordered the avenue to guide her. She soon escaped the street and turned unto a bridge lined with trees.

Babette slowed her pace, letting herself relax. She made it here without arousing alarm. Gazing out across the lake, watching the moon's reflection on the water, she walked leisurely to the center of the bridge to wait. She took a deep breath of the cold, crisp night air and leaned on the rail, glad she had loosened her corset before coming here. She looked up at the many stars and constellations that dotted the sky, admiring how they twinkled in the vast darkness, never dwindling and always there…

Strong arms hugged her waist from behind and she fell into the man embracing her, turning her head to meet his lips, breathing passion into every kiss. With bodies pressed against each other, the man withdrew to whisper in her ear, "I am glad you made it here." He kissed her neck.

"I would never miss the chance to be with you." Babette sighed, gripping him more tightly.

"Do your parents know?"

She laughed. "Of course not! I was very careful."

"Good." And he resumed kissing wherever skin showed.

Through this moment of pleasure, Babette tentatively asked, "Alphonse?"

He withdrew to look her in the eye. "Oui, _ma fleur?_ "

"How long must we keep up this… this forbidden love? When are we going to be able to show our love in public?"

"As much as you have told me, it is nigh impossible for us to expose ourselves as lovers to anyone." He smirked. "Forbidden love," he mused, his tone dropping into a purr, "I like it."

They kissed again and Babette lost the need to argue, ardor blotting the rest of the world into nonexistence.

Babette wished she could keep feeling his lips on hers, but a nagging thought wouldn't go away, so she had to stop to voice it. "Alphonse," she said seriously, gazing up into his green eyes, "do you love me?"

"Of course, _chérie_ ," he replied with a smile, his handsome voice soothing. "In fact, I have been wanting to show you how much I love you, if you will let me."

Her shoulders eased. "You have?"

"Yes, so I ask you…" He grasped her hand in both of his own. "Will you make the vow of love with me tonight?"

Her eyes widened. "You mean…?"

"Where we shed everything, and hide nothing." To emphasize his point, he slowly moved her sleeve past her shoulder.

"Tonight?"

"If it is possible." Hurt touched Alphonse's stare. "Do you not want to?"

She instantly shook her head. "No, no, of course I do," Babette replied without hesitation to fix the harm she caused. "It is only that… my parents—"

"Ah..." He nodded, understanding. "You are scared they will know."

Babette felt a pang of indignation. "I am not _scared!_ "

"What is it then?" Alphonse tried to meet her eye as he emphasized, "They will never know."

She continued to look affronted, her eyes downcast until Alphonse said, "All right, I have a solution." She glanced up, still showing she was offended. He stroked her hair. "Tonight, at midnight, I will come to you in your bedroom without detection, and I will make sure I am gone before dawn."

"How are you going to…?" She was shushed by a finger on her lips.

"Do not worry," he assured, his eyes sparkling with that mischievousness Babette fell in love with. "I have my ways." He kissed her knuckles. "I must go prepare for you. I will see you soon."

He kissed her on her waiting lips, and she tried to prolong it as long as she could, not wanting to let go but also dreading her return home. Nothing but trouble awaited her there.

Then Alphonse fled like a ghost in the night, leaving Babette to stand alone on the bridge, and not wanting to tread home to strict parents and rules to follow.

The clock tower chimed, and she knew she could not procrastinate any longer, so she began running back to her mansion. Hopefully, a lecture didn't await her on the threshold, and her parents hadn't checked on her to make sure she was sleeping. But this was wistful thinking; She hadn't yet gone out at night to come back unnoticed.

Slipping through the iron gate, she ran up to the door, and was about to open it when she thought better. That is where they will probably be waiting, she rationalized, remembering she had used the front entrance the other evening. She had to change where she entered her home every time she returned from her nights on the town to have a better chance of slipping inside with no one spotting her.

So she jogged around the mansion, ducking under windows as she headed for the stables where a back door led to a small landing next to the kitchen. A servants' hidden corridor was nearby, and she could sneak upstairs undetected.

As Babette crept inside, she heard voices coming from beyond the hallway leading to the kitchen.

"… probably with some other boy again!" her mother exclaimed with the usual tone of distaste that had pursued Babette since the day of her first kisses—five in row. "I have had it up to here with this nonsense! When is she going to learn? It has been _four years!_ "

"She will learn," came the calm, reasonable voice from Babette's father, as always trying to soothe his wife's choler. "It is only a phase. I got over it around her age."

"Ah-ha!" her mother cried in bittersweet victory. "So _that_ is where she got it from." A touch of playful blame was imminent. "Now the truth comes out!"

Her father chuckled, and averred, "Just give her time, Clarisse. It will all pass soon enough."

"It should have passed already! We have told her again and _again_ , and it seems to go right through her ears every time. She cannot act this way in public anymore, René! She does not seem to understand that what she thinks—or _doesn't_ think others see affects us just as much as her, and it is ruining our reputation in this town. I have had to hide my face amongst other noblewomen who have accounted to me what our daughter does, and it is sad to say it has become so frequent that I am not even surprised anymore!"

As she heard her father trying to calm down Clarisse, Babette couldn't keep listening to the harsh, stern timbre of her mother's voice. Clarisse had been severe with her more frequently than maternal, and Babette was perhaps as tired of it as Clarisse was of her nights on the town.

 _And there Maman is, worrying not about my_ safety _—oh no—she is only concerned about her reputation, and the other noblewomen giving her dirty looks as they pass her by on the street. How could her own daughter be more of a priority than that?_ Anger and frustration boiled inside her.

But their guess was right: Babette was with a boy. A man who was everything she could want, one who was vowing his undying love for her tonight under their very noses, and they would never have a clue.

Sweet satisfaction filled her smirk as Babette traipsed the thin passage. She came upon no servant or soul as she slipped through the wall next to the study door and made it to her room, taking note of the empty chair by her door where her maid, Bernadette, kept her vigil.

She proceeded to take off the deep red dress she had altered, one with velvet sleeves of that color with lace cuffs that had been pulled past her shoulders after her exchange with Alphonse. She had given the bodice more fabric for her bosom so the dresses didn't flatten them painfully against her body, unlike the kind of gown she would have to wear during the day.

The dresses she rectified herself were at first to have material to practice her sewing on, as well as something to do. Then she had realized she could use the skills she had learned to make them more comfortable and much less suffocating than the dresses her mother made her wear.

If it was up to Babette, she wouldn't wear those heavy, stifling gowns in the first place. But she had to. One of the many reasons why she wished she was not a noble.

She changed into her nightgown and curled up in bed to wait for Alphonse to arrive, and it would also keep her parents at bay realizing she was home and safe. As she lay under the covers, she saw light shine behind her eyelids, and she knew someone was checking on her. The light went away as she heard the door close.

With eyes shut, Babette found herself reminiscing the past few weeks. It was the longest she had ever spent with one man. She knew it had to mean something. They had been the best weeks of her life, a wonderful escape from her dull, daily life. Alphonse loved her, and she loved him more than anyone she had met. He had to be… the one.

Babette smiled. Her heart beat with excitement, anticipating the stroke of midnight.

* * *

"Clarisse, I am not hearing it anymore! The answer is _no!_ "

"Darling, be reasonable," Clarisse pleaded, leaning against René's desk. "Babette _needs_ this! She wants to get out of the house anyway!"

"Not for _that_ long!"

"Once we send her there, she will realize many things about her life and want to change. She will most likely _want_ to come home afterwards! It would be the best for her."

René shook his head, frowning. "I do not believe that."

Clarisse sat down carefully across from him. Her words came out slowly and steadily. "René, she is nineteen, and yet nothing has changed to convince her to take on the responsibilities we uphold. She has to learn. Because of her immature ways, we have been forced to defer in fi—"

A knock interrupted her. René straightened in his chair before calling, "Come in."

Bernadette peeked from behind the door. "Babette is fast asleep, monsieur…" She nodded to Clarisse. "… madame."

Clarisse was surprised. "Already?" She checked the clock on the mantel. "It is not even midnight."

René tried to nonchalantly shrug off the sudden relief he felt. "I am not complaining. At least she is home." He stood and walked around his desk to the door.

Clarisse still did not look convinced, but followed him out as Bernadette opened the door wider for them.

Outside Babette's bedroom, René opened the door gingerly so as not to wake her, and crept inside with Clarisse close behind.

The moon's beams bathed the balcony in soft light and shined through the curtains that swayed gently in the breeze. They approached the four-poster bed, watching their daughter's breathing as she slept.

Clarisse gingerly sat on the edge of the bed as René stood behind her, both pairs of eyes on Babette.

"Is that enough proof for you, _chère?_ " he joked under his breath.

Even in the dim lighting, he could make out the dirty look his wife gave him, chastising him for ruining the moment. She did not reply but turned back to look at Babette.

"She is so beautiful," he said, his words barely a whisper.

Clarisse nodded. "It has been so long since I have seen her sleeping." She faced René. "I know I can be cruel to her sometimes, but I just want her to be safe. If anything ever happened to her… I do not know what I would do."

"I know, _amour._ " He grasped her hand and kissed it. "But our little girl is strong. She can take care of herself better than you realize."

She squeezed his hand. "And I love her so much for that." She moved a stray lock of hair and leaned in to kiss Babette's forehead.

Clarisse silently stood and, holding René's hand, they left the room and closed the door.

Babette opened her eyes and sat up straight, looking to where they had departed. She had never heard her mother speak so devoutly about her, and it really had caught her by surprise.

They thought she was strong. They knew they did not have to worry about her getting hurt, yet her mother especially did not like her taking the chance. Her mother cared. She really did care!

It was silly to think she did not, but all the more it made Babette smile at the reassurance, to have heard it from Clarisse's own mouth.

How could Babette ever betray her?

What she planned to do, it was not right. Her parents did not even know that Alphonse existed. The shame and guilt she would feel if she went through with it was too much to bear for the rest of her life.

Babette threw the covers back and began pacing in front of the balcony, her mind whirring too quickly to be sitting still. She would have to tell Alphonse that they could not make love tonight. It was much too risky in the first place! She could not believe she had agreed to it! It was impulsive and stupid. Hopefully he would understand. If he truly loved her, he would understand.

But she was confident he would, and she relaxed as she stopped pacing, taking a seat on the bench in front of her vanity. She was still nervous about telling him, however, the more she thought about it. Her eyes wandered around to shift her attention, and she found herself gazing at the opal hair comb she had worn when she had met Alphonse, the one her father had given her.

Her father. She loved him dearly. He was so relaxed and assured, this being a sort of balm to when Maman would be stressed and uptight after a long day or a heated argument with Babette. And he could always brighten the mood of anyone in the same room. Papa was the one she went to when she needed a shoulder to cry on, someone to comfort her, to talk to. He never judged her and he understood her much better than her mother ever could. He was her best friend.

There was not a chance in the world she would tamper with that bond. She was doing the right thing by saying no.

A sudden rustle of leaves reached her ears, and Babette snapped her head toward the balcony. A figure climbed over the balustrade, causing her to jump up so fast the bench fell to the floor, its crash muffled by the rug beneath it. Her heart beat against her ribcage at the sight of an intruder, but as it straightened, Babette could make out the side of its face in the moonlight.

Her eyes widened. "Alphonse?"

"Of course, _ma fleur._ " Laughter was in his silk-smooth voice. He came nearer. "Who else would it be?"

Her hand went over her still-beating heart. "I almost confused you for a burglar! Never do such a thing like that again!"

_Dong! Dong! Dong!_

The clock tower continued to ring midnight, the bell echoing throughout the town.

"It seems I am right on time," he murmured, and she heard the smirk in his tone. His fingers pulled at the shoulders of her nightgown as his lips grazed her ear. "Let us not waste another minute."

She stopped his hands and pulled away, the pounding in her chest never ceasing. "Alphonse, I have something to say."

He looked at her quizzically. "What is it?"

She bit her lip. It pained her to deny him, to deny themselves this, but she confessed, "We cannot go through with this, not in this way. I have changed my mind." She searched his face, though it was cast in shadow. "I hope you can understand."

He chuckled lightheartedly. "I see you have gone cold on me, yes?"

"This really is not the time, Alphonse," Babette insisted, feeling a spike of indignation. "I think it is better you go home for now." But then softly added, "Please."

He sighed. " _Ma fleur,_ I am sorry." Caressing her cheek, he implored, "But please. You know how much I care about you, how much I need you." He leaned in slowly and kissed her sweetly. "Let me stay for a little while."

Babette's resistance crumbled as she gazed into his sad green eyes. Surely her parents were not going to visit a second time, and she really did want him to be with her.

"All right," she conceded. "But only for a little while."

He smiled as he kissed her again, this time more passionately. They both wrapped their arms tightly around each other. Then Alphonse scooped her up and laid her on the bed, never letting his lips leave hers.

Time seemed to stop as they became so consumed in each other. Pure bliss was the only way Babette could describe it. Soon, he began to explore her neck as he fondled the curves of her body.

"Oh, Alphonse," she purred in his ear. " _Je t'adore._ "

He stopped to gaze at her, moving a strand from her face. "And I you."

As their lips met, he attempted to slip off part of her nightgown again until Babette took his hands into hers and parted from their kiss.

"Please, _chéri,_ do not be tempted," she murmured.

"It is impossible not to be. To keep a body as beautiful as yours covered, hiding its glory, is a crime."

"Soon, _mon chère,_ soon." She gripped his neck and pulled him towards her for more.

Suddenly, Babette heard the door shut. Startled, she broke away from Alphonse and ran to the door, carefully peering down the hall, and her stomach dropped as she saw Bernadette running away, most definitely to her parents' room.

"Alphonse, you have to go," Babette urged.

"So soon," he lamented, but in understanding. He swiftly left the bed and kissed her goodnight before hopping the balustrade to the vines below.

She ran to balcony and called to him, "Be safe."

He looked up and smiled. "Of course, _chérie._ " And continued masterfully descending the vines.

Knowing her parents were coming, Babette went back to bed and quickly got under the covers again, trying to act like she had been sleeping the entire time.

Shortly thereafter, they came in with Bernadette, who carried a candle.

"Babette, we know you are awake," her father said, not fooled for a second.

Babette sighed into the pillows and rolled onto her back, sitting up against the headboard.

René appeared very alert for someone who had just woken up. "Who was the man that was in here?"

Babette hesitated, remembering her promise to Alphonse to keep their love a secret. She knew that that was going to change eventually, so it might as well be now. She wasn't about to lie to them again after what they had said tonight. "His name is Alphonse."

Her parents exchanged worried glances. "What does this Alphonse look like?" her father questioned.

Babette fidgeted slightly. "He is tall, with strong features, dark hair, and green eyes." She smiled despite herself. "He is very handsome."

René sat down on the edge of the bed and carefully looked her in the eye. "Babette, you did not…?"

Babette immediately shook her head. "Non, of course not. We were only… kissing." Though she desperately wished she could escape the conversation, she kept a straight face for her dignity's sake.

Both her parents looked relieved. Her mother grasped her heart as she let out a huge sigh, still unable to say anything as she paced while listening.

René gazed at his daughter gently. " _Ma chère,_ that man is a notorious philanderer. He has had relations with several other noble daughters, and who knows whom else."

She only stared back, unable to grasp his words and their meaning, but she was able to reply after a few seconds. "No… that is impossible. You must have the wrong man. He loves me."

"Babette, darling, we would know," her mother finally spoke up. "We have heard of many stories of the same man of your description wooing young girls like you and slipping into their rooms in the night. And it is probably not only daughters of nobility."

Babette stood her ground. "I still think we are talking about two different men."

Her mother beckoned with her hand. "Come with me."

The family followed by Bernadette went to the study at the front of the house that faced the avenue.

Clarisse went straight to the window and searched the street below. She then turned to Babette with melancholy eyes and referred to the outside. "See for yourself."

Babette obliged, still firm in her belief of Alphonse's love. The street was still except for the corner hidden in shadow under a shop's awning. She could not discern anything until they moved away from the shop front. As they ran by a street lamp, a girl was seen leading a man by the hand. The man caught up with the girl and embraced her with a kiss. The man wore exactly the same clothes as Alphonse wore, and the same hair, and defined muscles. There was no denying it was him.

Babette took a step back into the desk, making it rattle. She was too stunned to speak. She couldn't feel anything for a moment as her mind processed what she saw. Vary rapidly, though, her face became hot as tears began to form. Sobs broke from her throat, and she capped her mouth to prevent the sounds.

How could this happen? When had she become one of a number of girls at the mercy of a man? His false sincerity had been completely convincing. Everything about their relationship seemed to fit, to be right. This vision was against all that she had thought to be true about him.

He was everything to her while she was nothing to him.


	2. Departure

"Oh, darling," her mother consoled, about to bring Babette into her arms, but Babette turned away, needing to put distance between her and any around her.

As she brought her thoughts together, she faced them again and evened her voice enough to ask, "How did you know?"

"Babette, we stay up all night until you come home," Clarisse explained. "We have seen a passionate couple almost every night from this window, and it must be the same man. But it is not always the same woman."

Babette cringed. _Every night._ Everything had been a lie.

Her mother's sigh was full of helplessness. "I don't know what else to say to comfort you."

They all stood in silence as Babette furiously wiped away her tears, determined not to let herself be carried away by her emotions. She was better than this.

All of a sudden, René announced, "Babette, pack your bags. We are leaving in the morning."

Clarisse and Babette both looked at him in alarm.

" _What?_ " their daughter cried. "Why?"

"So soon?" Clarisse asked worriedly. "Are you sure?"

"I have never been more certain about anything," René insisted resolutely. "She needs protection. He will come for her again, and next time, I am sure she will not be so lucky."

"But to where?" Babette questioned anxiously.

René gazed at her gently. He brought her into his arms and kissed her hair. "You will find out in the morning."

Babette wanted to protest, but gave up quickly. She did not have the energy as of now. She merely nodded and went to leave.

Before she walked through the door, she stopped. Her voice was barely audible. "I'm sorry."

Clarisse sighed. "We know, darling."

Babette looked up at her mother in surprise. Clarisse's gaze was tender, but shiny with tears.

Feeling it was only right, she went to hug her mother, too. Usually she was very reluctant to because they always fought, but after what Babette had heard her say, she did not feel the need to hesitate.

Maman gave her a squeeze before she shooed her off to bed, smiling to herself as her daughter departed with Bernadette close behind.

* * *

As soon as she was alone in her room, Babette grew somber as she observed the scene. Immediately, she propped the bench back up and straightened the rug. Then she proceeded to shut the windows on the balcony, locking them in place and closing the curtains so the moonlight was obliterated.

Under the covers, she stared at the ceiling of her bed. Her eyes hurt from crying, and all she wanted to do was sleep, but when she closed her eyes, she could not find that peace where your thoughts subside. Images of the night ran like a slide show in her mind, and she began to cry despite herself. She should not be crying.

_But he lied to me._

She was blind, truly. She knew nothing about true love, else she would have seen Alphonse for what he really was. Now she knew, and had avoided making the biggest mistake. She should be thankful, happy even. But she just couldn't be.

She kicked the covers back, all of the tiredness having been washed away by her tears. Throwing open her closet door, she walked into its depths and grabbed all the clothes she could carry. If she couldn't sleep, she might as well get some use out of it and pack. She threw them on her bed, opened the empty traveling trunk at the foot of her bed and began folding her clothes with care before placing them in the luggage.

Folding laundry: something so mechanical and simple. Why couldn't everything be this way? Her life had to be so complicated, full of turbulent emotions and complex relationships. Nothing was ever routine, but it was never exciting and unexpected in a delightful way. Oh, there was such a beauty in simplicity.

After closing her trunk, she set her black muslin dress, the one with long sleeves, square neckline, and a skirt just to mid-calf on her vanity bench. She wanted something comfortable, travel-ready and, well, _simple_. She did not need to present herself extravagantly in a hoop-skirted gown to whomever was going to be at her destination.

Finally feeling sleepiness in her eyes, she crawled back into bed, her last thoughts being about what would become of her tomorrow.

* * *

In the early morn, Bernadette woke Babette up, who quickly bathed and dressed, trying to keep her mind at ease and not drive herself crazy with wondering where her parents were taking her.

Soon, Babette was stepping out the front doors, looking onto a black, horse-drawn carriage. Henri, a servant in his thirties - young for a majordomo, stepped past her, hauling her luggage to the rear of the couch. As he was coming back inside, Babette nodded to him gratefully. "Merci _."_

Henri smiled. "It is nothing," he replied, shrugging. "I guess this is adieu for now."

"For now?" Babette said, raising an eyebrow. "So I will be coming back?"

"Not soon, I can guarantee that."

Babette glanced around to make sure her parents had not come out yet, and whispered, "You wouldn't happen to know where they are taking me, would you?"

He laughed. "I would, but I am not permitted to tell you."

"Oh, please, Henri?" she begged, looking up at him imploringly. "For old time's sake?"

Henri had to grin at her uncharacteristic groveling. "You will find out soon enough—when you get there."

Babette scowled lightly at his response. "You never could be caught breaking the rules."

"And I never will. Let us hope you can learn to do the same, eh?"

Babette let out a single laugh. "When they finally make rules that are not made for me to break."

Henri chuckled. "Right. But you want to know a secret?"

"What?"

"The next time you want to do some law-breaking," he advised, a smirk growing on his handsome face, "try not to get caught."

Babette gave him a look. "If I knew how to do that -!"

"It would not be as fun, I know! But I am sure you are clever enough to figure out how... eventually."

She rolled her eyes; this was part of his usual behavior, teasing her. "Goodbye, Henri."

"Farewell, mademoiselle, and bon voyage." He bowed with a wink and trooped back inside as Bernadette walked out.

Babette smiled as she came out. Bernadette was closer to her own age, but as chaste and pure as any you ever met. She was so petite it was hard to imagine how she could be so full of love for everyone.

"Oh, mademoiselle," Bernadette sighed, kissing both Babette's cheeks, "you will be missed dearly. I do not know what we are going to do without you!"

"Kick your feet up and think of the all the trouble I will not be causing you."

Bernadette giggled a bit at her mistress's joke but reassured, "I never minded all the trouble you caused - I mean, oh I didn't mean it like _that!_ "

Babette grinned. " _C'est bien_. I know what you meant."

The maid, a little embarrassed, smiled and said, "I wish you the best of luck, Babette, I really do. I hope you find what you are looking for."

Confused, Babette took a second too long to ponder the last comment before Bernadette had already scurried back into the manor.

Her parents soon followed Bernadette's quick departure. René came over to Babette. "Are you ready?"

"No," Babette responded honestly. "But we better leave before I find a way to stay."

Her father smiled, but there was a seriousness to it. "I will not even give you the time to concoct a scheme to slither your way out of this. Come on." He led her to the awaiting carriage with Clarisse already inside.

The coachman shook the reins and the horses cantered past the walls of the estate. Babette couldn't help but glance back at her home as the iron gates closed behind them. It was strange, trying to imagine herself living in a different building. This was the only home she had known. Of course, a change in scenery could be just what she needed: Something new, something different, something possibly _exciting_. How could anyone not look forward to that?

Glancing at her parents, however, who sat across the coach from her, made her think twice. It was going to be a big change, not having her parents around to guide her. She was an adult now, though, a little into her nineteenth year, and this was the day she would leave the comfort of the nest for good. Being so used to her parents' watchful eye would definitely be a big difference, but she was sure that it was nothing she could not handle.

Babette stared calmly out the window with her chin leaning on her hand as they passed rolling hills and pastures filled with wildflowers dancing in the breeze while forests lay visible in the distance.

* * *

The ride was long and seemed to take hours in Babette's perspective. It gave her too much time to think, which was the last thing she wanted to do. As much as she tried, she could not prevent Alphonse from creeping into her mind. It drove her mad how all of the rich and arduous moments they shared could be tainted so quickly. It was going to take her a while to let those memories go, but right then, she simply couldn't.

Out of frustration with herself, she asked, "How long until we arrive?"

Clarisse gave her a small smile, understanding. "Not long, _chère_."

Babette attempted to return the smile and nodded. She leaned her head next to the window tiredly, took a deep breath, and continued to stare outside.

Soon, they entered a forest and trees blocked the widespread view they had had before. The sun shone through the leaves, creating a kaleidoscope of orange, red, and yellow. As Babette looked out of the creeping coach, she could have sworn she saw a deer, a buck with massive branch-like horns, but the next second it was gone, having leaped back into the brush.

Unnoticed by Babette, René was looking onto his only daughter from the other side of the carriage. To think, his little girl was nineteen, an adult, all grown up.

Of course, the first thing any parent thought when they were reminiscing about their children was, _How did they grow up so fast?_ René promised himself he wouldn't be one of those parents, but his emotions had decided to completely contradict that, and he couldn't be more annoyed with himself. But yet, it couldn't be helped. What he was staring at was a young, witty, stunningly beautiful girl— _woman_ , he caught himself. Not a girl anymore.

And now they were sending her away for her own protection. It killed him that he couldn't protect her himself. The boy had slipped right into their home without anyone noticing. It made him feel ashamed of their lack of security. Anything could have happened to her. He had to make sure to rectify that when they returned home.

They were practically throwing Babette out into the world without any more parental guidance, yet she was still under their influence. The regret was starting to rise up in his chest as they were almost upon their destination. However, René knew it was the right thing to do. As of now, her safety was his and Clarisse's highest priority.

He predicted their mansion would finally have order without Babette inhabiting it. There would be no fights, or yelling. There would be peace and quiet at last. No more worrying about where she could possibly be at one o' clock in the morning, and no more ranting on Clarisse's part—which would definitely be an improvement.

But there wouldn't be any surprises, no excitement. Babette's melodious laughter would not ring throughout a room anymore. There wouldn't be any more of their playful teasing, or their meaningful conversations that were near and dear to him. Babette was who made their lives more eventful and fun—with the exception of her late-night rendezvous.

Looking at her in the situation they were caught up in pained him deeply, but he knew that it was time for her to grow and Clarisse especially emphasized this. René knew it was only temporary, but he still hoped Babette's stay there would not be for too long.

Suddenly, the coach came to a halt. Babette immediately perked up and stared eagerly out the window. She heard the slight squeak of a gate opening, and the carriage resumed its path. As best as she could, she got a glimpse of her new home.


	3. First Impressions

The carriage came to a complete stop.

Babette stared at both of her parents. "I do not understand."

Her mother looked her in the eye while her father still kept his averted. "Is it not obvious?"

Babette became incredulous. "No! Out of all places… I do not understand why I am being sent here."

"This place is safe, controlled, and ordered," Clarisse replied calmly. "It will be good for you to be under a strict rule and have a job to do."

"A job?" Babette exclaimed, becoming more perplexed. "Is this is a sort of punishment as well?"

She willed to get more out of her mother than a stoic countenance, but was in vain. "You cannot stay in a king's château without some kind of compensation. You can look at it as punishment, or an opportunity."

"What will my… job be?" The very thought of it was intimidating. She glanced over at her father, who still seemed determined to give less of a response than his wife. A spike of frustration ran through her. If they were going to dump her on such an esteemed property as this one, she deserved more of an explanation.

"You will find out soon enough." The coachman opened the door for them. "After you."

Trying with all her being not to glare at Clarisse, Babette hesitantly stepped down the rung of the coach to the paved stone. Her eyes trailed from the ground up, looking onto the turrets and spires that towered over her. One of the most important fortresses in France stood proudly before her: Le Château du Lac.

Dotted over the shining stone were stained glass windows that flashed the blazing sun right on her face. Climbing up the face of the castle were vines whose leaves were starting to orange from the change in seasons. With her head bent all the way back, Babette could just make out the tallest tower that pierced the sky like a spear.

The large, wooden doors with iron frames that she faced opened, and a short and stout man with a thin mustache came out. His dress indicated that he was a servant, but his clothes were neat and tidy, with his shoes polished and the golden buttons on his maroon tailcoat glimmering.

The stocky man smiled warmly at Babette's parents as they stepped from the carriage behind her. "Ah, Monsieur and Madame Chantemerle!" He bowed respectfully to them. His accent was English. "What a pleasure to see your travels were well. I deeply apologize that Their Majesties could not see you at the present, but they have some important guests that they must entertain."

"That is quite all right, Cogsworth, thank you," Clarisse replied, mirroring the smile. "I am afraid we have no time to visit either. We must be returning home immediately. We have guests of our own coming for dinner tonight."

"Not even some lunch before you resume your trip home?" The man named Cogsworth looked disappointed at the prospect of not being able to serve the noble Chantemerle what he had to offer; Babette resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"I am afraid we currently do not have the time." Clarisse looked apologetic for his sake. Then she held out a folded piece of parchment she had kept in her hands to him. "Would you please give this to Their Majesties for us?"

"Of course, madame," the servant replied, putting the letter inside his coat pocket. "I will give it to them as soon as they are available."

"Thank you."

Cogsworth's eyes moved to the young maiden appearing standoffish. She was stunningly beautiful, with plump red lips, long lashes and dark brown hair so lustrous it reflected the sun as glass would. Her small waist accentuated her bosom and rear, making her figure very curvaceous, yet it seemed well-proportioned for someone of her size. Her stance was proud and tall, boasting confidence that all aristocrats should hold, with shoulders back and chin held high, though hers suggested something else and just increased her magnetism.

 _Wonderful_ , Cogsworth thought. _She hasn't spoken a word and she already reeks of the type that causes trouble._ "And this must be your daughter who will be staying with us, correct?" he asked out loud.

Clarisse nodded and placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Yes, this is Babette, your new resident." To Babette, she said, "Babette, this is Cogsworth. He is the majordomo here, so you will be taking orders from him now."

Cogsworth nodded to her and managed to muster a smile though he was letting his own prejudices get the better of him. Babette returned the nod, but was not able to mirror the half-hearted smile.

"Now, Babette," Clarisse said, turning Babette around so she faced her. "We are leaving you here to get your mind off of your habits. Remember what happened last night. We are trying to protect you from getting hurt in the future." Clarisse kissed Babette's forehead and smiled. "Goodbye, my darling. We will be back, so behave."

"As you wish," Babette said softly, and managed a small smile before Clarisse hugged her.

Clarisse stepped back to let René approach Babette. He searched her face for a moment, as if to try and implant the image in his memory, and brought her into his embrace.

"I know you will not get into any boy trouble," he said as he brought her to arm's length. "I know you will not disappoint us. You will be an obedient, perfect little angel." He smirked. "On the surface."

Babette laughed despite herself before he held her face in his hands and continued, "Even though we are leaving you on your own, you have plenty of help here and you are in good hands. We still love you, and always will."

Babette nodded as she held steady some oncoming tears. "I love you, too."

René grinned and kissed her forehead. "Farewell, _ma petite_."

"Adieu, Papa." She nodded to Clarisse. "Maman."

"Au revoir, Babette." And with departing smiles, they were both back in the carriage and riding away past the gate and beyond, leaving the bags the coachman had unloaded by Babette's feet.

Having stood off to the side to give the family some privacy, Cogsworth approached Babette and said, "Bring your things, and I'll show you to your room."

Babette followed orders without looking him in the eye. He held the door open for her as she stepped by the lion statues guarding the doors with her baggage. She blinked in wonder at her surroundings.

She had been in some very nice mansions, but this far exceeded them all. The vestibule was the size of a cathedral. The floors were marble, as were the pillars that stretched to the vaulted ceiling and lined the way to the grand staircase at the far end of the room. Red carpet led the way to the stairs.

While Babette was still taking it all in, Cogsworth commanded hurriedly, "Come along. I have much to show you before you start your duties, which include lunch."

"What exactly will I be doing?" she asked as she caught up to him easily as he led the way up the staircase.

"You will be a maid," he replied, striding surprisingly quickly with his stocky legs through the elaborate halls that bore handsome tapestries and portraits. "You will be in charge of dusting, scrubbing, polishing and sweeping what needs to be cleaned. Also, you are on the serving staff, so you will need to be at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, which will be explained in time. Now hurry along! I have more important things to be doing!" He checked his watch that hung on a golden chain from his coat pocket for Babette counted the third time.

Babette had slowed at the jobs she had been assigned. A maid? A _server_? The only experience she had in either was watching her own servants perform their duties.

Cogsworth came to a halt at one of many mahogany doors along the hall and opened it with a key, revealing a bedroom with a four-poster bed, wardrobe, and vanity.

"These are your quarters where you will be sleeping," he explained as she stepped in and looked around. "You are to return here when all your duties are done, no later than nine o' clock at night, and be out of your room by seven in the morning."

Babette faced him as she repeated with a hint of distaste she could not hide, "Seven o' clock."

"Yes, mademoiselle, seven in the morning," he persisted, noting that he had stricken a chord of hers. "I thought I spoke clearly enough."

Babette turned away so he could not see her glower grumpily. She had never begun her day as a noble before nine in the morning. Aristocrats happened to enjoy their beauty sleep, and that was one habit she could agree with wholeheartedly.

"Leave your bags here," Cogsworth ordered. "You can unpack later."

Babette set her luggage down at the foot of the bed and turned around to see that Cogsworth had gotten a head start down the corridor. She ran after him, catching up to him again with a matter of ease.

"You'll have time to dilly-dally after nine, mademoiselle," Cogsworth reminded, checking his watch yet again. "It is still quite a while until then."

Babette concluded that she did not like this man, and she was certain the feeling was mutual. Having to follow this servant's orders was going to be more punishment than she deserved.

Out of all her imaginings, she would never have guessed that she would be sent here, in the castle of King Vincent and Queen Beatrice. And to be a servant? Babette did not have the first clue of how to do anything, especially since she had never done any labor in all her life, being busy taking etiquette, culture, arithmetic, and literature lessons from her various tutors when she was younger. A noble learning how to wash dishes and dust? It was unheard of! She was going to make a fool of herself among these servants who actually knew what they were doing.

What were her parents thinking?

* * *

"That tightly-wound, tyrannical, puffed-up pocket watch..."

A woman with a blonde bob and big blue eyes barely looked up at the man crossing her path in the hall, muttering curses under his breath. Suddenly, her hand was grabbed and she was spiraling into a passionate kiss. She slowly relaxed into it, everything else dissolving around her. Oh, it was wonderful... Then she remembered who she was kissing.

She tore herself away and punched him in the chest, thick with rage. " _Dieu_ , Lumière! You cannot just _kiss_ me whenever it suits you! How many times must I tell you to get it through that thick skull of yours?"

Lumière was trying not to smirk, but said, "My sincerest apologies, Angélique. You know it is not because of you-"

"Oui, oui," she interrupted mockingly, "it is all because of Cogsworth that you let your frustration out on me. Well, why do you not go and kiss him if you are so-" Angélique's eyes narrowed. "What on earth are you smirking about?"

His smirk widened. "You did not pull away at first."

Angélique's cheeks grew rosy, but she glared and looked as if she was going to reply, then changed her mind. "I do not have time for this."

He followed her as she began stomping away. "Admit it, you enjoyed it!"

"I do not need to admit anything to you."

He stopped in front her, gently grasping her hand, and said tenderly, " _Chérie_ , you know as well as I that our feelings for each other have not completely disappeared. I am afraid this is simply my way of coping."

Angélique ripped her hand out of his. "That is not an excuse. I cannot be who you run to for sympathy, and I especially cannot be the one you kiss to retrieve your stolen pride." She sighed and continued less coldly, "It does not matter what feelings we had or have now. I do not want them anymore and you cannot keep confusing me like this. Now, if you please..."

Lumière, his eyes downcast, stepped aside, and Angélique, lifting her chin, continued her way down the hall and around the corner.

Of course, she was right about everything: He had been using her to curb his bad mood. It had been rather futile from the start, since Angélique despised him for having her fall in love with him. He had tried to apologize for what had occurred, but it was not his fault if she refused to accept it. That did not quite stifle the guilt, however.

A nearby grandfather clock chimed eleven. He had to be in the kitchen now, or Cogsworth might go off on him again.

After almost four years of working in the castle as maître d', Lumière and Cogsworth still had their petty arguments. Lumière always tried to explain to Cogsworth that sometimes time was not counted when in the company of a beautiful maid, yet the majordomo never seemed to deem that as a plausible excuse. Besides, when had he ever made any noticeable mistake? Sure, he might have been late to the kitchens a couple of times, but the chefs knew what they were doing. They weren't children. If Cogsworth could ever give him one time their guests had had a complaint, Lumière swore he would take it all back and never disrespect Cogsworth again.

Lumière chuckled to himself. That would be the day.

In the kitchens, Lumière found his element quite easily as he got to work preparing lunch for the royals and a group of Spanish ambassadors, keeping all the chefs in check as they readied the menu he had planned.

As every dish was busy cooking, baking, and sautéing, Lumière could not help but twinge at hearing the voice that rang behind him:

"Lumière, would you come here for a moment?" Cogsworth called to him by the kitchen doors.

Without a glance in his direction, the maître d' snapped, "I'm busy."

"Lumière, that was not a request!" Cogsworth admonished.

Mon Dieu _, when will this end?_ Lumière spun around to face him with a ripe retort on his tongue, but found it caught in his throat. Frozen in place, surprise overtook him as if he had been slapped across the face.

Whatever he had been expecting to see, it had not been a beautiful brunette standing next to Cogsworth. Lumière had seen many gorgeous women in his time, but this one's beauty was beyond compare. So many appealing features in one: luscious lips, the perfect hourglass figure, bright long-lashed blue eyes... He could not absorb enough of her at once.

At the call, the man named Lumière faced them with an intense expression on his handsome features, and Babette unexpectedly found her knees about to give. Her eyes strayed the length of him without her permission. Over his tall, slender build, he wore a tailored deep gold vest, ebony trousers, and a white shirt with a cravat that were both relaxed enough to indicate an easygoing attitude but maintain a sense of propriety. As he strode towards them, it seemed he carried himself with a confident ease that made Babette's heart begin to flutter.

As though his moment of awe hadn't occurred, he composed himself smoothly, took her dainty hand in his, and kissed it. " _Enchanté,_ mademoiselle. _Très enchanté._ " He pressed his lips to her hand again.

Cogsworth rolled his eyes to heaven for some god to help him bear this adolescent of a servant. Of course Lumière had to act charming to a girl of her beauty. This was exactly why he knew Babette would be a troublemaker: Lumière would fly to her faster than a hummingbird finding a new flower in bloom, and no woman yet had come to resist his charm. She was probably going to fall right into the palm of his hand.

After just starting to look forward to no more of those extremely suave and charming men, of course there had to be one living in the château. Her only thought was of Alphonse as Babette and her heart turned stony at Lumière's touch.

It left both men stunned when Babette withdrew her hand in the middle of Lumière's greeting. Placing her hands at her back, she appeared sober as she said professionally, "A… pleasure, monsieur _._ "

Feeling particularly embarrassed at his failure to immediately woo her, Lumière could only incline his head to her and look intently to the stone floor as if it could have the answer to what had gone wrong in its grooves.

Not until Babette turned to Cogsworth expectantly for introductions did he come out of his shock—and a pleasant shock at that. A woman who had turned Lumière down! Incredible! He would never have wagered on that happening. Especially since the last time he had hired a woman, she had fallen under Lumière's spell when he had persisted, even though she had been regarded for her intelligence and commitment to her work, and had never allowed herself to be distracted by anything, specifically men. That was when he had declared hiring a new female was a risk with Lumière working at the castle. But this was a special case that could not have been avoided, and thank goodness he was wrong about her!

Cogsworth cleared his throat and introduced her. "Lumière, this is your new server, Babette. It is your job to train her to do all that her position requires… starting tomorrow. We will give her a day to get acquainted with finding her way around here."

Babette and Lumière both glanced at Cogsworth simultaneously in surprise. Babette had thought that she would be getting to work immediately, especially with his constant rushing, but she inwardly became very grateful at the chance to create distance between her and the maître d'. Lumière, on the other hand, could not believe the credit Cogsworth was giving her, but he was glad he had a day to stay unassociated with the new server. He needed to think this through.

Undaunted by their astonishment, Cogsworth smiled at Babette and said, "I expect you would like to go unpack, mademoiselle?"

"Oui, monsieur _,_ if you do not need me any further, _"_ Babette replied, making an effort to be courteous.

"You are dismissed," Cogsworth said, waving her away. "Run along."

Slightly offended at the order that made her feel like a child, Babette turned and left the kitchen without another glance at the maître d'.

After she was gone, Cogsworth faced Lumière and said, "I can see you are as surprised as I am."

"I do not want to talk about it."

"Fine, whatever suits you," Cogsworth yielded, a hand on the door, and tried to be as discreet as possible with his discouraging. "Try not to dwell on it too much, Lumière. What is one girl after all?" And with that he took his leave.

Lumière glanced up at where Cogsworth had parted, puzzled. Why would he say that? Was he trying to keep Lumière from pursuing the new maid?

Of course he would.

Lumière smirked. Didn't Cogsworth know that to attempt to discourage him was to encourage instead?


	4. Finding Their Bearings

Flopping onto her new bed, exhausted, Babette stared at the ceiling of the four-poster sullenly, her thoughts unwillingly straying to Lumière.

Damn him! Damn that maître d' for making her heart race at the mere sight of him! He would lead her astray right to where Alphonse almost took her. She would admit, she had that urge to go along with flirtatious words, but thank goodness the thoughts of Alphonse crept up, holding her steady from following his lead. It was good, what she did, she thought, almost trying to convince herself. Since she had resisted him, he would refrain from making another attempt. Hopefully, he was not the persistent type. Babette did not truly know how long she could resist a man she had suddenly felt so attracted to.

She had sworn to herself she was not falling for any man's fair façade and charms that easily anymore. Babette had to prove to her parents that she could swear off men with bad intentions. She could act like a noble should and ignore them, sustaining her dignity and not falling for their false sentiments.

Already, she had found a man she had to avoid else she would succumb to temptation, right after finding out she was not the only woman in her lover's life and she had been sent by her parents to work as a servant. What act of cruel fate was this? Not within twenty-four hours had anything gone so amiss for Babette. What had she done to deserve this?

She sighed as she began to unpack. She could not help being flirtatious. It was part of her rebellious nature against her own upbringing as a noble. Deep down, she felt that she was not meant to be a noble, but the worst part was that she could not change that. Fate had her be borne into a noble family, and no one picks their own heritage.

She should count herself lucky. Anyone would love to be of her status, or even in her current spot. She was in Le Château du Lac, residing in the same building as the King and Queen of Bourgogne. If anything, Babette should feel blessed.

Thinking on this, she took a deep breath and tried to relax herself by pondering happier thoughts.

As she hung the last of her clothes in the wardrobe, Babette heard a knock on the door. A corpulent woman of about Babette's height peeked in. "Are you the new maid?"

"Oui _,_ I am," Babette confirmed, approaching her. "Can I help you?"

The woman smiled as she stepped in, holding up a few identical black and grey dresses. "I have your uniforms right here!"

"Uniforms?" Babette grimaced.

The extravagantly dressed lady laughed heartily. "Yes, of course, dear! All the maids have to wear the same outfit. It's better in identifying what their place is in the castle, you understand. We don't try to make you look bad on purpose. In fact, I try to make these maid outfits fitted for you girls, since all of you are so skinny and like to show it, am I right?"

Babette glanced down at her ample bosom and generous hips. "Well, if you insist."

"How about we get started then?"

The tailor hung the dresses over the folding screen as Babette changed out of her black dress into one of the uniforms. Babette stepped in front of a floor-length mirror in a corner of her room. The dress went to the floor and had some tulle in the grey skirt so it flared out nicely. The fit around the waist and hips was a little baggy at the moment. As for the sleeves, they were long and black with white lace cuffs that made her feel like a nun, except she would not have been able to use her hands to pray because the sleeves were covering them entirely.

"Let's see here," the tailor said, looking over the dress critically. "Well, these sleeves are _much_ too long and need more than a hemming. And we must tighten this waist here." She grabbed the extra cloth around Babette's waist from the back. "Yes, we must tighten this by a _lot_." She came around to face Babette, expression filled with wonder. "You have the tiniest waist I've ever seen! You're one of the lucky ones!"

Babette was taken aback by the praise, but smiled all the same. "Merci… I'm sorry, I did not catch your name."

"Oh!" Her face fell slightly. "Oh, you… don't recognize me?"

Babette shook her head. "No. Should I?"

"Well, I was _hoping_ …" She cleared her throat, posing theatrically and saying with flair, "I am Madame de la Grande Bouche! I performed for the King at the Royal Opera! 'The toast of Europe, the brightest star to ever grace the stage'… Does that help ring a bell?"

That did not clear up Babette's confusion. "I do not recognize your name, no. Sorry."

Madame sighed, and began pinning Babette's uniform as she said kindly, "That's quite all right. I guess you were too young to have known me in my golden years. What's your name, dear?"

"Babette."

"How nice. It seems fitting for you," Madame said sincerely.

Babette grinned. "Thank you _._ "

After pinning all four uniforms with many words exchanged between them, most of them being from Madame de la Grande Bouche, Madame left with the uniforms in hand and measurements memorized.

"I'll have them done by the end of the day," she informed, one foot out the door.

"Merci beaucoup, Madame," Babette said gratefully. "Adieu."

"Ta-ta!" And she closed the door behind her.

Well, since she didn't have anything else to occupy her time, she might as well take advantage of her given free time and get acquainted with her new surroundings.

Babette left her bedroom, back in her black dress, and closed the door.

Wandering leisurely down the halls of the castle, Babette was able to really take in all presented in the royal manor. All the halls' floors were of white marble with scarlet red carpet flowing down them. The windows were from the ceiling to a foot from the floor, all draped with curtains the same color as the carpet. Some corridors were decorated with beautifully painted portraits of royals now and before, along with tapestries that were embroidered with vivid pictures of kings riding horses into battle or peaceful scenes of nature of the surrounding lands, while other hallways were lined with thick marble columns supporting high vaulted ceilings. End tables and pillars held candelabrums, mantel clocks, small vases of flowers, and painted urns. One hall was lined with nothing but suits of armor. A staircase climbed up and turned left off of the hall. Babette began climbing the steps, no consequence of her action coming to mind.

"I would not do that if I were you."

Recognizing the voice, Babette ignored it. She would have to take orders from him in the kitchens every meal, and there was not a chance she was going to listen to whatever that maître d' had to say outside of it.

Lumière stared up at the young maid. _Is she deaf?_ "Mademoiselle _..._ " he called. But she kept going.

How did he find her anyway? She would have thought this castle would be big enough... unless he _followed_ her!

She sneered at the thought. Dieu, _if that is the case-_

Feeling a sudden pull on her wrist, she stopped on the landing and spun around to glare daggers at the man. She yanked her arm from his grasp. " _Do not touch me_ ," she warned.

Lumière took a step back at her hostility, but retorted, "At least one of your senses is working; I am trying to tell you not to go up there. _That_ is the West Wing."

Babette raised an eyebrow, setting her arms akimbo. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

He gaped at her. " _Yes!_ That is where Their Majesties' quarters lie! You are forbidden to go up there unless you are called by name." He shook his head. "And you were about to wander into disaster on your first day. Lucky for you I was here."

She could have laughed at the mere suggestion of her being fortunate in any regard. She was at the bottom of the social ladder, had an attractive and most aggravating man making advances at her, and her parents believed that by trapping her here, they were doing it in good health to help her build character. Her luck, at this point, was out of the question.

She narrowed her eyes, willing the maître d' to leave her alone. "I do not need any of your help."

"So you say." He gestured to the air around him. "Yet here we are." His grey eyes seem to stare right through the front she was trying to build.

Babette felt her cheeks begin to burn. "If I had known earlier, I would not have been about to trespass Their Majesties' wing!"

"Wait," he said, crossing his arms. "Cogsworth did not tell you?"

She shook her head like it was obvious. "No, else I would not be deliberately going against orders. I am not completely devoid of common sense, monsieur," she added a bit spitefully.

Lumière found himself becoming impressed with this girl: Her blue eyes blazed with a fire he had not seen in a woman before. It was clear she was bent on hating him with a passion incomparable to anyone he had met. It would take a long while to change the animosity she obviously felt toward him.

"I never said you were," he replied calmly.

"Sometimes words do not need to be spoken for their meaning to come across," Babette said, eyeing him menacingly. With chin lifted and shoulders back in aristocratic fashion, she strode down the steps and out of sight.

He gazed after her. _What is more, she has a clever tongue!_

He did not understand how she could have such a dislike for him already. He had introduced himself, and that was all. In normal circumstances, it would be best to ignore her entirely, but that was not how Lumière wanted to go about. He could not have this very attractive as well as passionate and quick-tongued mademoiselle look at him as an enemy, however he became one. He needed to have her warm up to him.

But how to do that was the problem.

* * *

 _Mon Dieu_ , the nerve of him! Did she really have to take orders from _him_ for half of the day? It was enough that he had tried to charm her on sight, and then he acted as if that never happened—or did he treat women like that so often that it was completely normal to him? Unbelievable.

As Babette huffed down a hallway, she heard distinct noises that made her halt, sounds that she was more familiar with than any other, although it was odd and rather disturbing being outside of the origin. She turned her head to the right, and there was the source: a maid, by her uniform, kissing another male servant relentlessly with incredible fervor.

They were completely oblivious to Babette, though she was standing only a few feet away. Babette wanted to tell them to find a broom closet, but the words caught in her throat. She would be a complete hypocrite if she said anything, she realized, even though these servants did not know that she was a flirt herself.

With this in mind, Babette continued on her way hastily, hoping the couple had not noticed her.

Is that how Babette appeared when in public with some boy in an alley or tavern? Anyone could have looked onto her and she would never have known. What were the thoughts of those who saw her? That she was a courtesan? So many negative perceptions of her could have been made out without her even knowing it, but she instead had been too… distracted.

Babette could finally understand what her parents meant about her depicting the family badly by the way she acted with men. She felt the guilt begin to grow in her chest.

Upon opening the door to her bedroom, Babette was awoken from her reverie when she saw Madame de la Grande Bouche laying Babette's new uniforms on her bed.

Madame looked up and smiled, waving her hand at her freshly completed handiwork. "Well, there you are, darling! I got those done quicker than I thought. I hope they fit nicely now." She began walking to the door. "I suppose you want to get some rest. I am sure you had a long day with traveling here, and Cogsworth gets you maids up early, so I'll be on my way out!"

Babette smiled at her. "Merci, Madame."

"Oh, my dear," Madame said, laughing. "You don't have to call me 'Madame'."

Puzzled, Babette said, "But I thought you said your name was..."

Waving a hand at her, the diva replied, "No, no, dear, that's just my old stage name." She tapped her right temple in folly. "How could I forget to say? Silly me! My _real_ name is Martha. Martha Armoire."

"Oh! Well, that makes perfect sense. I was curious about your... stage name, was it?"

"Yes, yes, it's a _mouthful_ in French! Very long, you see. But they didn't call me that for nothing!" And to prove this statement, Madame opened her mouth and belted a series of impossibly high notes that made all of the mirrors in the room shudder.

This left Babette temporarily stunned as the notes caused her brain to vibrate, but found herself genuinely impressed. Having always appreciated talent when faced with it, she applauded, "That was… magnifique!"

If Martha had a fan, she looked as if she would have fluttered it at her breast. Flattered, she said, "Yes, well, I have retired these old pipes for good, but I do have my moments." She sighed happily. "Well, I'll leave you to turn in. Good night, darling!"

She was about to leave when she jumped and went, "Oh! Your Highnesses! Pardon me, I almost ran into you both!" She curtsied as the King of Bourgogne opened the door so Babette could see him, his wife visible right behind him.

"It's quite all right, Madame," the King replied with a kind, mustached grin, nodding to the diva. He gestured at Babette. "We just came to introduce ourselves to our new resident."

"Of course, of course," Madame said. "I'll just leave you three alone." She curtsied to them again and waved at Babette. "Bye, darling!" And was gone before Babette could return the gesture.

She smiled at the royals and curtsied, still slightly astonished at the visit. "Bonjour, Your Majesties." Thinking quickly, having never been put in a situation like this before, she added politely, "How could I be of service?" That sentence seemed so humbling. She had never felt so meek in all of her life, and all it took was to be in the presence of a king and queen.

They both smiled at her as the Queen bid her to rise, saying, "No need to be so formal, dear. We know this is a bit overwhelming for you as it is without having to perform proper etiquette toward us." Babette straightened and nodded. "Your name is Élisabeth, correct?"

Babette shifted awkwardly. "Well, that is my given name, but I prefer to be called Babette. My parents have conceded to my wishes, but you may call me whatever you like."

"If Babette is what you prefer, then that is what we will call you," the Queen said. She then became condoling. "Your parents informed us of the current circumstances of your arrival. Is there anything you need?"

Even though she knew they were trying to help, she could not help but blush in shame. She had to avert her eyes. "Non, Your Majesty, thank you."

"Regardless," the King began, taking the initiative to change the subject, "we simply wanted to properly welcome you to our home, and to make sure you are all settled and comfortable. I am sure this is a very big change for you."

Babette inclined her head respectfully as she had been taught. "Merci beaucoup, Your Majesties. I appreciate your concern."

"One more thing," the Queen pointed out, "no one but Cogsworth, the King, and I know that you are actually a noble. The rest of the residents here believe you are merely a new maid." She looked at Babette with more meaning. "So we are clear, your parents wish you to keep your true identity a secret, for reasons I am sure you can guess."

Babette nodded as a slight quiver of excitement went through her. _Just a normal servant..._

"Well, we will leave you to rest from your travels," the King said, walking to the door with his wife. "Bonne nuit, mademoiselle."

"Bonne nuit, Your Majesties," Babette returned, curtseying.

They both smiled at her before closing the door.

As she stood up, she grinned to herself. She would be a normal servant. No special treatment, no looks of recognition from people she had never met, no dirty glares from girls because they saw her flirting with their beaux... This was a fresh start, a blank, clean slate to create her own reputation based on her present actions alone, not on her parents, her social rank, or previous public behavior.

Alighting onto the vanity bench, she looked at her reflection, imagining the possibilities. Since she had no interest in attracting any attention, maybe she could dress more conservatively. The _last_ thing she wanted was men expecting they would get anywhere with her. So she would show no more cleavage... okay, maybe a little. But not much. She would be a hard worker, and be willing to learn. She would also be friendly and open-minded. She wouldn't be there forever, so she might as well enjoy it and get as much out of it as she could.

And last of all: she would not flirt.

It wouldn't be hard, especially after what she went through with Alphonse. The next time she would find any interest in men was when she was back home, choosing who she would wed.

Pulling out her sewing kit from her luggage, she tried one of the uniforms on, assessed what she wanted done, and made some adjustments. She shortened the skirt a little, scooped the neckline, and trimmed the sleeves to the elbow. She tried to make enough changes that were going to make her more comfortable but make them small enough so they were not as noticeable to others.

When she was done, she folded the finished uniform over her vanity bench and changed into her nightgown, hanging the rest of the uniforms and her black dress in her wardrobe before taking a bath and getting into bed.

Getting under the fresh sheets, her mind wandered to what had happened the previous night, and Babette's heart throbbed, having not been entirely mended. Time healed all wounds, she told herself. The only way they would reopen was if she did not learn from them.

She would never make the same mistake again.


	5. On the Job

The next morning, Babette was sure to get up early to have plenty of time to curl her hair. As she washed her face and brushed her hair to get it ready for curling, her mind wandered to what could possibly be awaiting her on her first day as a servant.

It already was a pleasant change. She couldn't remember the last time she had dressed without Bernadette's assistance. It had never been her choice to have her maid treat her like a wooden doll she had played dress-up with as a small child. Despite her protests that she could dress herself every morning, her mother would not permit it, her reasoning being she didn't trust Babette to dress properly. Clarisse believed she would waltz into the foyer with one of Babette's indecent creations, which was not completely invalid. She certainly would have tried, given that Babette strived to be comfortable and not contort her body in the weapon of torture called a corset.

Her uniform was almost a dream come true, lacking any frills, beading, and unnecessary lace and letting her body keep its natural curvaceous shape. If she had the choice as a noble to wear a gown and her uniform, there would not be a moment's hesitation on which one she preferred.

Being a maid also didn't call for any social skills of any kind. She did not have to pretend she liked anyone. She could say she hated them outright if it was the truth. She couldn't count how many times she wanted to set a fellow aristocrat straight but had to bite her tongue until she tasted blood. Rules of propriety, which could fill several large tomes written in very small print, hardly applied when you were a servant. It seemed she only had to carry out orders correctly. One rule. Babette could practically giggle at the thought.

She was going to savor her time here so she could keep her memories with her to use during the dull ramblings of the men and women of her high society. Then she wouldn't have to pretend to those snobbish pedigrees that she was enjoying herself.

Soon, Babette's head was a mass of chocolate brown coils bouncing around her shoulders and heart-shaped face. She then went to slip into the uniform she had redesigned when she heard knocking on her door.

"Come in," Babette called, fixing the skirt of her dress as she came out from behind the folding screen to greet the visitor.

An older portly woman with a kind face peeked in. "Oh good!" she said pleasantly. "You're already up and ready."

Perturbed at the comment, Babette replied, "I am not late, am I?" She glanced toward the clock on her mantel.

The woman gave a reassuring smile. "No, dearie, not to worry. Cogsworth seemed to have just been fretting over nothing, thinking you would want to sleep in."

Babette smirked. "Well, I must admit, I did give that impression. But surely he has never gotten an eager reaction when he says to wake up before seven."

The woman laughed warmly. "Oh he doesn't see why, but that's because he always rises with the sun. Hardly finds the difficulty in rising early like the rest of us!" After another laugh, she admonished herself, "Oh, where are my manners! I'm Mrs. Potts."

The new maid was about to curtsey out of habit, as was an upper-class custom, but stopped to take Mrs. Potts offered hand, hoping the woman had not noticed. " _Je m'appelle_ Babette. _Enchantée_ , madame."

"A pleasure to meet you as well, dear." Glancing at the clock herself, she added in jest, "Well, we mustn't doddle for Cogsworth's sake. Are you all set to go then?"

"Oui, I—" Babette felt the top of her head, forgetting the finishing touch. "Oh, _un moment_!"

Grabbing the maid's cap off of her vanity, Babette went over to the floor length mirror and set it amidst the curls, assessing her appearance.

The maid's outfit hugged her curves well with Martha's adjustments. The white kerchief shaped the scoop neckline into an upside-down teardrop, the point only hinting at her cleavage. The gray skirt started just above the hips and flowed to mid-calf, the tulle making it fuller. A white apron with pockets was wrapped around Babette's waist.

"All right," Babette said, satisfied. "I am ready."

They both walked into the hallway as Babette shut the door behind her.

"So," Mrs. Potts began as they made their way to the kitchens, "I hear you're the new server."

"Oui _,_ " Babette replied. "As well as a maid." She shyly glanced down at her uniform. "But that was already a bit obvious."

Mrs. Potts chuckled. "It seems that we will be working in the kitchens together."

Babette smiled. "Oh really! What do you do?"

"I'm one of the cooks, but I'm also the housekeeper."

"Ah. Well, it will be nice to see at least one…" She was about to say "pleasant" on the account of Lumière but changed it to: "… familiar face among everyone."

Mrs. Potts smiled at her. "Don't worry. You'll get to know everyone in time." There was a pause, and she asked, "Is this your first time working in a château?"

Babette nodded, suddenly finding herself timid.

"Then I can help you out, dearie, so you're not lost in all the hustle and bustle."

"Oh, that would be very kind, thank you," Babette replied sincerely.

In a few moments, they were pushing open the kitchen doors. Babette hesitated for a second, because there was _much_ hustle and bustle going on. Cooks rushed back and forth from stoves to counters to the fireplace, juggling multiple pans, pots, and bowls at once. It seemed chaotic, but amidst the crowd of cooks, there was Lumière orchestrating the entire kitchen, calling out orders, tasting dishes, and giving his critiques. He noticed Mrs. Potts and her by the door and caught her eye. Babette quickly averted them, making herself watch the cooks instead.

Lumière swerved through the working chefs to meet them. "Merci, Mrs. Potts. I will take it from here."

"Not at all, Lumière," she replied. She gave one last smile to Babette and went back to work.

He turned to Babette, trying to be as professional as possible. "The other servers will be here shortly. When they arrive, do not join them. Just watch and learn from wherever you are not in the way." With that, he returned to the chefs, who were occasionally glancing over at the unfamiliar face with interest.

Babette blushed. This was infuriating, having to bite her tongue and actually follow orders from him. She was being forced to be around him, and she did not know how long she would last in these circumstances. But she had no choice. She had to focus and ignore all of the emotions boiling inside her.

Servers soon began rushing in, men and women alike, and Babette recognized that many of the girls were maids, too. They pulled serving trays out and began arranging the drinks and courses on them, adding garnishes and finishing touches. Babette sincerely tried not to be in the way, but she found that there was no place in the kitchen that the staff would not go to at some point. She also wanted to get a better look at the actions of the servers. Most of the servers ignored her as they went about their business and waited in a line with trays in hand before Lumière sent them all out at once.

Everything was very organized, Babette noted, and she could not help but be a bit impressed at Lumière's leadership. Despite all of his apparent downsides, there was a reason he served in the King and Queen's château.

Mrs. Potts came up to her. "Are you okay, dear? Do you have any questions?"

"No, madame," Babette replied with a small smile. "There is a very clear and steady flow, I notice. I do not think I will have any trouble becoming accustomed to it."

Mrs. Potts returned the smile. "That's a very good attitude to have, dearie. I do agree there is a nice and easy flow to the kitchens nowadays. Frankly, I don't think we've ever had a better maître d' as good at what he does than Lumière. It's interesting because he's also the youngest one we've had."

"Really?" Babette asked, quite intrigued despite herself. "How old is he?"

"Well he just turned twenty-seven but he was only twenty-three when he started. He was highly recommended by the family he worked for prior to this." They both watched as the servers flocked back into the kitchens with empty trays that soon filled up again to take out the second course. "For some strange reason, we had had some terrible luck with all of these maître d's who were supposed to be world-famous connoisseurs, but they all ended up disappointing us. So when we heard about Lumière, we just shrugged and said, 'Why not let the boy have a go at it?'" She laughed. "It really is the most peculiar thing!"

Babette turned to watch Lumière, contemplating this new light that was shined on him. How could a man with a seamless work ethic and reputation be completely opposite outside of the kitchen? Certainly someone so highly regarded had better manners and appealing qualities... Maybe she had missed something, or had been too quick to judge. Oh, Babette didn't know! All she knew was that she could not let her opinion be swayed until more information was revealed.

"Mrs. Potts, if you would not mind assisting with washing up," Lumière called respectfully, striding towards them.

"Of course," Mrs. Potts replied. As she walked past him, she gave him a subtle wink. He gave her a smile in return. She must have talked him up very well to the young maid.

"Mademoiselle," he acknowledged.

"Monsieur," Babette returned.

Their manner was nothing but professional, and yet the tension was obvious. Neither could help it. Both of them would rather be somewhere else other than the kitchen, despite how they kept up their cool appearances.

"I need to know what previous experience you've had so I know where to begin," Lumière said.

Babette glanced down as she cleared her throat. "You might as well start from the beginning."

Lumière raised an eyebrow. "The beginning?"

Babette nodded, trying to remain emotionless. "Oui."

He stared. "You do not know how to do anything?"

Babette shifted uncomfortably, feeling her cheeks grow warm. "What is expected of me?"

Lumière sighed. "You do everything you saw: Garnish the hors d'oeuvres and entrées and carry them out. Prior to the meal, you set the table, and afterwards you help clean."

Babette thought swiftly as he looked at her expectantly, waiting for her response. She thought back to her meals at home. "I can set the table and clean, and I can certainly carry trays of food. I will be able to do everything once I get started. I am a fast learner."

Lumière continued his analyzing gaze. " _Bien_ ," he finally said. "I need you to return here in an hour so I can see how much you really know." He gave her curt nod. "You are dismissed." And he turned his back on her, returning to help with cleaning.

Babette was out the door in the blink of an eye.

 _Dieu_ , he saw right through her. He knew she had never done any of those things. She never wiped anything clean in her life. It had to be obvious with how perfect and uncallused her hands were. She was sure most of the servants had been servants their entire lives. She already didn't belong.

What were her parents thinking, throwing her into a place as something she had no experience in being? Her bed was always made for her, her room always dusted for her, her plate always taken away from her when she was finished... How could she act like she knew what she was doing without embarrassing herself in the process?

Maybe that was it. Maybe she had to embarrass herself, become more humble, and swallow her pride.

 _Dieu_ , that sounded awful.

Babette closed the door to her room hurriedly as though she was being chased, and slid down the door to the floor. She just wanted to lock herself in there and never come out.

She happened to glance toward her unmade bed with all of the sheets kicked back and hanging off of the side. Well, she had to start somewhere.

Standing up, she walked over to the bed and stared at it, thinking back to how it was made at home. She got into a bed every night, but had never really thought about it.

Babette took the pillows off the bed and pulled the sheets to the head of the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles. Then she put the pillows on top of the sheets and pulled the blanket over them, tucking the blanket under and between the pillows.

Looking it over, she thought it looked right. If she had to make a bed, that was the way she would do it unless someone told her otherwise. Hopefully, that would not happen...

On her vanity was a feather duster, ready to use. She might as well do something while she waited.

Snatching it from the vanity, Babette strode out of her room and down the corridors. When she assumed the naturally-lit corridor was very vacant, she began dusting side tables and frames of paintings. She was not even sure where she should be dusting. She figured if they wanted her to dust a certain place, they would tell her.

She could not help but feel extremely silly swiping this feather duster over everything. She did not want anyone seeing her doing this menial task.

When a drawing room came up, she slipped into it, shutting the door.

"Hello?"

Babette spun around, jumping out of her skin.

"Oh, I am so sorry!" From a few candles that were lit around the room, Babette saw a pretty blonde in a baby blue dress stand up from a corner armchair as she put down a book. "I did not mean to alarm you."

"No, no, it is quite all right," Babette gasped, catching her breath. She had to smile at the surprise, and the blonde returned it.

"Were you about to dust in here?" the blonde asked, pointing to the feather duster.

"Oui, but I was really only trying to be alone," Babette admitted.

The woman let out a laugh. "That is exactly why I am in here. I came here to read and think in private." She briefly looked Babette over. "Are you new here? I do not think I have seen your face before."

"Oui _,_ I am." She held out her hand this time. "Babette."

"Angélique. _Enchantée._ " They shook hands politely.

" _Enchantée._ " Babette repeated. She pointed at the book left on the armchair. "May I ask what you were reading?"

" _Ars Amatoria_ by Ovid," Angélique replied with a small smirk. "I find some of his advice amusing."

"Ah, oui, I have read that," Babette related, mimicking her smirk. "I have laughed more than once on Ovid's account."

"You read the old philosophers?" Angélique inquired with pleasant surprise.

"Oui, I am familiar with them." Babette thought back to her lessons as a noble and was about to say more but stopped herself, instead saying, "But I admit I am a romantic when it comes to books."

Angélique laughed. "We all are, no?"

Babette laughed, too. "True, true. Well, whenever you think of it, read _Heptaméron_ by Marguerite of Navarre. It was my guilty pleasure!"

Angélique's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "I will look into it, merci."

"Of course! Anything to help a fellow romantic," Babette replied playfully. Dieu _, when was the last time I spoke like this?_ "Well, I must get back to being a maid. It was a pleasure to meet you."

"And you as well," Angélique said sincerely, inclining her head.

"I am sorry to have disturbed you."

"Oh, _du rien_ ," Angélique affirmed, smiling. "Really. Until next time."

" _À toute à l'heure_." And Babette slipped out of the room.

As she walked down the hall, she could not recall anytime recently when she had talked with girlfriends. After Babette became pubescent, her company became only men. All of the few girls she knew had pushed her away out of jealousy or rivalry. The couple of girls that hadn't push her away grew apart from her, which was not anyone's fault.

To have had a nice conversation without the concern of there being an unwanted attraction was a wonderful release. She missed having a friend, and Angélique seemed very kind and bright.

Outside the tall, graceful windows, the sun shone brightly from the cerulean blue sky. Glancing down at the lawn, Babette came to a halt. She stepped closer to one of the windows to look below. The beauty of the gardens made her eyes grow wide. The colors of the blooms in autumn were breathtaking to say the least. Winding paths marked their way through the chartreuse hedges into the maze at their center. Fountains gurgled as they dotted the corners of the gardens.

To take a step out into the sunshine and get out of the stifling castle and take a walk through the gardens' majesty and beauty...

Babette rushed down the hall and flew down the stairs to gardens she could not believe she had known nothing about.

"Babette!"

She stopped in her tracks, her glee diminishing at the sound of that voice.

Lumière looked at her quizzically as he approached her. "Where are you headed in such a rush?"

Babette stared blankly back, hesitating, and replied, "I... was going to take a breath of fresh air for a minute or two." She gestured to her feather duster, jesting, "The dust is already getting to me."

Lumière assessed her, unamused. "I think it better you get used to dust as soon as possible, being a maid and all."

Embarrassed, Babette felt the urge to shrink under his analyzing gaze. Did he think she was lying?

"Come," he continued. "I am curious to see what you really know."

Babette tried to stifle the terror rising inside of her as she followed him to the kitchens.


	6. Pride and Prejudice

An assortment of silverware, plates and glasses were set before Babette in a neat pile. The only sounds in the kitchen were the crackle of the hearth.

Lumière leaned against the counter, staring at her. "Well? What are you waiting for? Arrange them."

His tone sounded condescending to Babette's ears, and the blaze in the fireplace wasn't helping keep the blood from her cheeks. This was ridiculous, having to prove herself to him. She was not stupid, and did not need to be treated as such.

After getting a picture of how her table at home was set in her mind, she made her back erect and began arranging the dishes delicately under Lumière's watchful eye. When she was done, she folded her hands and took a step back, looking at Lumière as if daring for him to find a mistake.

He took one glance at the arrangement and went right back to her. "Where did you work before this?"

Babette opened her mouth to speak but Lumière continued, saying, "The better question being: how did you get hired here if you have barely an inkling of what you are doing?" He actually said that with a grin, as if he found her situation humorous.

Babette blushed furiously and pierced him with her stare. "That would be none of your business! How about instead of barraging me with impertinent questions, you actually train me as you were told!"

Lumière was too stunned to speak. Everything he said, she took as an attack. And she was _lecturing_ him about it! He couldn't decide if he should be annoyed with her or have respect for her tenacity. After a moment, he was able to gather his thoughts. "Did I offend you, mademoiselle _?_ "

"Why not answer your own question for once, _monsieur?_ " Babette spat the word.

Lumière shook his head and chuckled bemusedly. "I do not understand your behavior! Do you treat everyone this way?"

She looked at him like he was mad. "Of course not!"

"Oh, so I suppose it is only me?" he asked, bewildered.

Babette pouted her lips like she did when she was frustrated and remained silent, averting her eyes.

Lumière narrowed his. "We have not met before, have we?"

"Trust me, I would have distinctly remembered someone like you," she replied unflatteringly.

He shrugged. "Had to ask. You would not be the first woman to hold me in contempt."

Babette snorted. "I am not surprised."

He looked her straight in the eye. "Like it or not, _chérie_ , you are stuck working for me three meals a day. I would recommend finding a way to get through it without using me as a post for your lashing tongue," he advised, facetiously adding, "My deepest regrets that the sight of me offends you so."

"Do not flatter yourself," Babette replied peevishly. "It is only your voice that I find incomparably irritating."

Lumière was—for the first time—struggling to remain his usual easygoing self. "If you cannot abide listening to me now, might I recommend the art of reading lips? I am sorry to disappoint you, but if it has not gotten through that pretty head of yours, I am your superior, and it is part of your position to do as I say."

"You are the _last_ person I would take orders from," Babette hissed.

"Frankly, _ma chère_ , you do not have a choice," Lumière replied just as vehemently.

That struck a nerve with her, because it was true; She wasn't about to give him that satisfaction.

"I do not need to be told by the likes of you what choice I have!" Babette snapped back. "I _refuse_ to work with a man as conceited and arrogant as you are! I would rather scrub floors until my hands bleed!" With that, she turned her back on him and stomped out of the room, leaving the doors swinging madly and a gob-smacked Lumière behind her.

* * *

" _Cogsworth!_ "

Surprised, the majordomo swiveled to look behind him at the sudden outburst to find an angry, out-of-breath maître d' striding towards him.

Cogsworth furrowed his brow. "Lumière, what could be-?"

"What kind of girls are you hiring, _pour le Dieu_?" Lumière cried. "She has no experience to even lie about and a complete lack of respect for anything to do with me!"

Cogsworth couldn't help but smile at Lumière's first showcase of distress. He never thought he would see the day Lumière broke his nonchalant composure. This girl was a gift in disguise.

"I don't see why you've come crying to me," Cogsworth said, ineffectively hiding his triumph. "The girl is your problem."

"I can see you are enjoying this rather shamelessly, but could you possibly provide some input that does not include gloating about whatever victory you think you've won?"

"What's that?" Cogsworth asked, feigning deafness. "I must have misheard, but I swear I could decipher you asking for my help! What an absurd idea! Please, would you care to repeat yourself, Lumière? You must have said something else."

Lumière glared daggers at him, gritting his teeth. "What do I do about the girl?"

"Oh! So you _did_ ask for my help! I thought I was going mad for a moment!"

Lumière's fingers itched to strangle the majordomo. "Cogsworth!"

"Oh come now, Lumière, you have to admit that the last thing I would expect you to ask me about is advice for a _girl_! It's really quite amusing!"

Even though his pride was bruised, Lumière continued, "I am glad one of us can find the humor in it, but tell me, what do you suggest? You're the one who hired her in the first place!"

"Do whatever you normally do with women! Charm her, or something! Oh wait, that didn't go well the last time, did it?" Cogsworth smirked.

"She refuses to be charmed! How is that my fault?"

"Well you obviously gave her a bad impression, and you haven't improved on it since."

Rather irritated with himself, Lumière admitted, "I do not know how to fix it. You can take her off the serving staff, can you not? You would be saving both of us the trouble."

Cogsworth eyed him, surprised to have Lumière appear to be at his wit's end. "You would rather have a girl like her adamant about hating you for as long as you work under the same roof? I really doubt that's what you want."

"Of course it's not. But I would rather not deal with the problem right now. Not until I can talk to her properly without having her insult me in her every reply. At this point, we would both be wasting our time trying to work together."

Cogsworth thought about it for a moment. He was always reluctant to comply with any of Lumière's favors, but in this case, any agitation in the kitchens would likely cause problems with workers other than Babette. He had a household to run, and he would be damned if he let the conflicts between Lumière and the daughter of a count jeopardize the ebb and flow of what he worked so hard to properly maintain. "All right, I will let her know. But only for a couple of days! I can't have her be too idle for long."

"That is all I need," Lumière replied, feeling an unexpected surge of relief. "I appreciate it."

Though the majordomo was not searching for his gratitude, he stoically said, "You're welcome."

"... One more thing," Lumière added, daring himself to ask. "Where is this girl from?"

Cogsworth chuckled. "You _would_ like to know, wouldn't you?" And he continued on his way without another reply.

* * *

After her outburst, Babette had run straight to her room and locked the door, wishing there was another barrier she could put between her and that maître d'. Never had she felt so stripped away and broken down in such a short amount of time, and by a man like _him_. She could not have that happen. Not by Lumière.

Maybe she shouldn't have reacted so violently. But it was not as if lying would have helped; he would have seen right through it just as before. It would have only made it worse. No, it was better that she had reacted the way she did. Maybe he would at least be intimidated by her and keep his distance.

Even with her face planted into the pillows, Babette was able to hear a faint knocking coming from outside her door. Grudgingly, she slid off of the bed and unlocked the door, opening it to find the majordomo standing right outside of it.

"Oh!" Babette exclaimed, not expecting to see Cogsworth. Dread crept into her stomach as she felt a reprimand upon her. She tried to remain composed. "Bonjour, monsieur. Can I help you?"

"Good morning, mademoiselle," he replied formally. "It has come to my attention that you are having some disagreements with our maître d'."

Babette grimaced. Instinctually defending herself, she implored, "Monsieur, if I could say—"

"If you please," he interrupted, holding up a hand. "Due to the conclusion that these conflicts you both have would interfere with both of your work, I have decided to take you off of the serving staff—"

Her surprise was evident. "Really?"

"For now," Cogsworth continued firmly. "Until these conflicts are resolved, I do not want to cause any kind of tension in the kitchens that may distract the rest of the staff. But whatever disagreements you and Lumière may have, I expect them to be settled within the next couple of days." He glanced around the hall, making sure there were no servants wandering down it, before he said, "I promised your parents I would keep you busy. But I completely understand the reason for your arguments."

Babette looked at him questioningly. "You do?"

"Indeed," he replied matter-of-factly. "I find him quite insufferable as well." Babette smiled at that. "However, despite his obvious character flaws, he is invaluable to our kitchen staff, and what he lacks in manners and professionalism he makes up for in efficiency and leadership. Regrettably, I can't fire him for your sake… or mine." He straightened up and resumed, "I hope you can both come to some kind of understanding and be able to work together a little more harmoniously." Looking at Babette more deliberately, he added, "I want to keep my promise."

Babette nodded. "I will do my best."

"And I will make sure he does as well." Becoming authoritative once more, he said, "I suggest you join the other maids in the East Wing to prepare for the Spanish royalty's arrival."

"The Spanish?" Babette exclaimed quizzically. "Why are the Spanish-?"

"You can ask your fellow maids," Cogsworth interrupted again, checking his pocket watch. "I must attend to other business. Good day, mademoiselle." Turning on his heel, the majordomo made his way at a brisk pace down the hall.

Babette then grabbed her feather duster from her vanity and headed down the corridor to the East Wing. She was glad she had gotten a chance to walk around the château the day before. It would be most embarrassing to get lost on the first day of work, making her greenness even more obvious.

Luckily, without any trouble, she found where a group of maids were cleaning the rooms and hall of the East Wing. All of them were about her age, maybe older, and all were chattering with each other as they cleaned. The few in the hall looked up at her approach.

" _Tiens_ , another one," a taller maid observed. She seemed to have been a maid for a while. "It is like they are coming out of the walls."

"You over-exaggerate!" a petite, blond maid chastised. "We haven't had a new maid for a few months now."

The tall maid rolled her eyes. "Now I _know_ I've been here too long: Time is beginning to evade me."

The black-haired maid next to her giggled. "You make it sound like you are withering away!"

"Why do I feel like it then?" the tall maid muttered into the air as she returned to dusting an enormous picture frame.

The blond maid acknowledged Babette. "You are new here, are you not?"

"Oui _,_ very," was Babette's sincere reply.

"Well, _enchantée_. I'm Veronique. This is Michelle." She referred to the black haired maid, who repeated, " _Enchantée_."

"And that is Agnès," Veronique added as she pointed to the tall brunette keeping herself busy.

" _Salut_ ," Agnès mumbled informally with hardly a glance in Babette's direction.

" _Enchantée_ ," Babette replied to all. "My name is Babette."

"So, what family did you work for?" Michelle asked, like it was the same as, _Where are you from?_

"The, eh, Chantemerle," Babette half-lied. They would not be able to confirm it, Babette reassured herself.

"Oh, oui, I have heard of them," Michelle said, her blue eyes bright. "They live in La Clayette, correct?"

"Oui, with their courtesan daughter," Agnès affirmed. "What is her name again?"

Babette could not keep a little blush from her cheeks. "… Élisabeth."

Agnès noticed this at a glance and asked, "You did not know people knew about that all the way out here, did you?"

"I must say, it is quite impressive," Babette admitted.

"It is amazing what you hear nobles and royalty talk about amongst themselves." Veronique smiled mischievously. "Since we are merely part of the furniture to them, they do not bother to keep anything quiet about their personal business. It's what makes being a maid so much fun!"

"We are the eyes and ears of this place," Michelle confirmed.

"As well as the mouths," Agnès interjected, rejoining the group as the other two giggled in agreement.

Fellow nobles talked about her? Babette had no idea she was a topic of gossip among her society. Her mother hadn't been exaggerating after all. She started to feel sick to her stomach.

Doing her best to hide her sudden queasiness, Babette inquired, "So you must know why the Spanish royalty are coming to the château?"

"Of course!" Veronique exclaimed. "The King and Queen are marrying off the Prince to the Spanish Princess."

Babette's surprise was obvious. "Really? To the Spanish?"

"That was precisely our reaction," Michelle disclosed, grinning humorously.

"How old is the Prince?"

"Four years old."

Babette's eyes widened, stunned. "Well, they surely are not wasting any time. Being so young, how do they know if they like each other or not?"

"Who says they have to like each other?" Agnès said bluntly. "That is the least of their concerns."

"If they are talking about _marriage_ , should that not be a concern?"

"It may be a marriage, but it is more of an act of diplomacy," Michelle explained. "Whether they will like each other or not is out of the question. They will have to make an heir eventually, so if they do not end up liking each other, they will have to get over it."

Babette frowned. She had never agreed with the idea of arranged marriages, despite her parents being a positive example. "That does not sound very fair."

Michelle and Agnès laughed. The former replied, "Ah, so naïve!" She put a comforting hand on Babette's shoulder. "You will learn in time."

Babette didn't continue chatting with the others after that as they all joined the other maids in the rooms and chambers to clean and prepare for the Spanish's arrival the next day. Inconspicuously, Babette followed the trio's lead on cleaning while listening to the gossip. The maids could be cruel about certain bits of information, especially about fellow servants. Babette was sure she did not want to be a part of that. She instead pondered on the purpose of the royalty's coming and the Prince and Princess's future together.

* * *

Along with the East Wing, the maids spruced up all of the halls, dining room, and foyer so that everything the Spanish would see shined.

At the end of the day, Babette was dragging her feet to her room. Closing the door, she dropped the feather duster onto the floor as she fell face first onto the bed.

"I never want to move again," she mumbled into the sheets. She was perfectly content in falling asleep then and there, when she heard the door knock.

She groaned loudly, being muffled by her pillows, and refused to move.

There was knocking again and a voice said, "Babette? It's me."

Babette immediately perked up at the sound, eyebrows furrowed. She stared at the door in consideration.

"I would like to speak with you about this morning."

Sighing, Babette mustered to stand up again and straighten her uniform and apron before cracking the door open.

All day, Lumière had rehearsed in his mind how he was going to apologize, but right as she opened the door, his mind went blank. She might have despised him for whatever reason, and she might have made him lose his temper for the first time, but he was still as drawn to her as when he first saw her, maybe even more—which he could not make sense of. This was the last girl he should desire. Then again… wanting her made perfect sense.

Though Babette was not exactly pleased to see him, the look on his face was anything but smug or cold, which in itself was a pleasant change. Yet she still hated the way his eyes were able to transfix on her so disarmingly. Then she remembered she had to try and play nice with this man. She crossed her arms and attempted to be civil. "You have something to say?"

Lumière silently chastised himself for becoming distracted. He cleared his throat. "I simply wanted to say that this morning should not have happened. I should not have reacted the way I did, and I would like to give you my sincerest apologies, if you will accept them."

Babette was taken aback by his manner. The fact that he could swallow his pride so well and be the first to take the blame for the argument… well, it was more than she could have done, as stubborn as she was.

She could not suppress a hint of a smile as she said, "Of course." If he could readily come to her and apologize, she could do it too.

She straightened, adding, "But the fault is not all yours. I must take some of the blame, and I am sorry for becoming so defensive. You did not fully deserve that."

He obviously did not expect an apology in return, but he smirked, raising an eyebrow. "'Fully'?"

Babette returned the look. "You deserved it a _little_."

Lumière shrugged in consent. "As the lady wishes, but only because I want to avoid being scolded by that fiery tongue of yours."

Still smirking, she replied, "I could tell it had been a while since you have been told off by a woman."

He had to chuckle. _Not quite, actually._ Fidgeting, he changed the subject, "That aside, I understand that erasing first impressions can be difficult, but I hope you can make an exception."

After a moment of musing, Babette grinned. "I believe I can make that possible… at another time. It's a bit late, and I am exhausted."

He nodded. He knew he had to get her back in the kitchens again, but that could wait. One of the many lessons he had learned over the years was that it was best to take things one step at a time where vexed women are concerned. "Of course. I will let you get some rest."

"Thank you," Babette said sincerely. "For the apology."

"No, thank you," he insisted. "I must confess it is hard to sleep at night knowing that I have left a woman upset."

She found herself wanting to believe him. Her tone soft, she said, "In that case, I hope you have pleasant dreams."

His eyes locked with hers, he replied, "Likewise, _chérie_. Good night."

"Good night."

He bowed in farewell, never taking his eyes off of her, before swiftly striding away.

It wasn't until a few seconds after he left that Babette finally shut her door, at a loss for what had transpired.


	7. Royal Affairs

It took Babette the entire night to process her conversation with Lumière. As if the argument had magically disappeared and all of Babette's preconceptions and inhibitions of him had vanished. How could she let the shields down so easily? Shouldn't she be protecting herself from any man who might try to harm her? She could not shake the feeling that she should trust him, which scared her the most. What did she know about him? Practically nothing. His introduction had been an advance, he had tried to establish some superiority over her, and he had tried to pry. Meanwhile, she had steadfast resistance to him that caused her to lash out at him on every occasion. He might have been in the wrong, but she was just as guilty. Obviously, attacking each other was causing more harm than good. Despite Babette's efforts to prevent any from coming to herself, she was hurting the people around her, so much that she was taken off of the serving staff.

And this was supposed to be a clean slate. What a great beginning to living in the King and Queen's château, starting fights and causing exceptions to be made for her.

There was no doubt she had to give Lumière a second chance so they could work together in peace. However, she promised herself she would not trust him until she got to know him better. Surely, there could be some understanding between them.

As Babette left her room, she followed the other maids heading to work. While some separated to do some last minute cleaning duties, the rest, including Babette, went to the gardens to bring in fresh flowers to decorate the chambers for the Spanish.

Babette felt like it had been ages since she had stepped outside, and she silently rejoiced in the fresh autumn breeze that brought the smell of fallen maple leaves and flowers releasing the last of their scents into the air.

Florists gave each maid a couple dozen flowers of roses, lilies, rosemary, red carnations, and bluebells that they had spent the early morn picking carefully. As Babette returned to the castle with her bunch of lilies, she regretted not being able to spend more time outside where the brilliant sunshine reflected off of the colorful foliage that complemented the azure blue sky.

With the blooms, the few maids began arranging several vases together. Babette was pining to ask a question, and saw Veronique among the group. She called to her and inquired, "Is there a certain day when we are not obligated to work?"

"Oui, of course," Veronique replied. "We have Sundays off when we do not have guests. The King and Queen take Sundays to rest as well."

Babette pouted slightly. She did not want to have to wait for the royals to leave. But maybe she wouldn't have to. She then smiled. "Well, I have been aching to explore the gardens!"

"Ah, yes, they are lovely," Veronique confirmed, smiling as well. "The Queen has cultivated flowers from all over the world that could grow in our climate and soil. They are her prized possessions and is a fond collector.

"I recommend going at night. The stars and moon make the flowers and trees seem like they are glowing. But…" She shrugged. "… that is only my opinion."

"Oh, I do not doubt it," Babette assured. "I would love to when I get the chance."

After mixing all of the flowers prettily in their porcelain vases, each of the maids grabbed one and dotted them around the East Wing on vanities, side tables, and window sills.

Very soon after, Cogsworth called all of the servants to meet in a large drawing room in the servant's wing. He stood in front of the hearth in the center of the room as the servants filed in, having quiet conversations with each other. There was enough room for all of them to spread out in small clusters, mostly with others in their position. Groups of maids were forming but Babette decided to stand off to the side against the windows by herself.

"Ah, yes, you, would you please close the doors?" Cogsworth ordered a straggler. "Thank you. Now, everyone, as you know, this visit by the King and Queen of Aragón is of the utmost importance. Not only are Their Royal Majesties discussing diplomacy between our countries, but a marriage between their Princess and our dear Prince Adam will be arranged, binding our countries in an unbreakable partnership. I understand what some of you may be thinking: Why the Spanish? Spain's resources are dwindling, their economy is almost in ruin, and frankly they are the weakest they have been for hundreds of years. Realizing that they cannot survive this alone, the Spanish have reached out to us to help them, and our extraordinary King and Queen are generous enough to willingly provide assistance. Indeed, Spain is quite desperate, but after building them up again, they will be invaluable to us as allies. We are all blessed enough to be a part of this moment in history to show them are infallible hospitality and represent the King and Queen through our work.

"Therefore, I expect nothing less than the best from each and every one of you." He managed to eye everyone in turn as he spoke. "During the entirety of our guests' stay, I will be keeping a close watch on all of your work. If something is not to my liking, I will have you fix it until I am satisfied. Mistakes that are noticed by our guests that could jeopardize our diplomacy with them will not be tolerated, and I guarantee there will be punishment if anything of the sort happens. Thankfully, I am looking at one of the most well-trained and proficient group of people I have ever had the pleasure to work with." Not willing to provide such a lofty compliment on its own, the head of the household annexed, "When it counts. Still, I do not anticipate any mishaps to occur. Just remember that Their Highnesses are counting on us to do the quality of work they expect. Exceeding expectations is always the goal."

He checked his pocket watch. "Now, they will be here within the hour. Any more work that needs to be finished, finish it. Otherwise, check, double-check, and triple-check everything to make sure it's no less than perfection." He waved them onward. "You are dismissed."

Babette found herself dozing slightly against the curtains and woke with a bit of a start. Despite the rush of servants leaving, she happened to catch glances with Lumière across the room. She saw him smirking humorously at her, laughter in his eyes.

Babette turned away quickly before he could see her blush, embarrassed at being caught in such a position, and blended in with the crowd before he could spot her again.

A familiar voice greeted her by her right shoulder. "Bonjour, Babette!"

The said maid turned to find Angélique walking beside her. "Bonjour, _mon amie_! How are you?"

"Oh, the usual: Stressed, frazzled. I have been evaluating everyone's work to make sure the presentation to the Spanish is perfect. It is all about first impressions when it comes to special guests such as these."

"Does Cogsworth not do that?"

"Have you seen him? He has enough keeping him wound up as it is. That is why he hired me so that he does not need to worry about how everything looks. Not meaning to brag, but I have impeccable taste and am just as much of a perfectionist as he is, if that is possible."

Babette couldn't help but be impressed. "Are you checking more work right now?"

"Oui, I am. I have not checked the East Wing yet. Were you one of the maids that helped decorate it?"

"Oui, I helped arrange the flowers, which look very beautiful."

Angélique smiled as they reached the Spanish's chambers. "Ah, yes, I could not agree more." As she looked analytically around the room, she began making small touches like moving some of the flowers around in their vases and adjusting various things around the rooms. While she did this, she chatted with Babette. "So, how is it, being a maid here?"

"It is… different," Babette could honestly say. "This place is so grand, I am afraid to touch anything in fear of breaking it!"

Angélique laughed. "Oh, please! With your dainty hands?" She glanced over at her. "How _do_ you keep your hands so smooth after washing and cleaning for so long?"

"I really could not say," Babette replied a little awkwardly, and returned, "How long have you worked here?"

"In the château, I have been a decorator here for about a year, I should say. But I have been doing this for much longer, almost five years." She looked at the maid quizzically. "Do you have another position along with being a maid?"

"Well… actually, I am currently not on the serving staff. The… maître d' and I had some disagreements."

Angélique spun around, her eyes wide and mouth in mid-gasp. "You and Lumière had a fight? Why have I not heard of this?"

Babette shrugged. "I was training with him and… I became defensive and began insulting him. It was very impulsive, I could not have prevented it if I had wanted to."

The decorator was smirking. "I am sure it was what he deserved."

"Well, he actually apologized to me last night."

"Of course he did. He cannot stand it when an attractive girl is upset with him."

"That is just what he said."

"That is not surprising either."

Babette gazed at her critically. "From your manner, I am assuming you have had encounters similar to mine."

Angélique stopped rearranging things and turned to her fully. "Let me ask you something: Did he immediately try to charm you when he first saw you?"

Babette nodded. "Oui."

"Did you reject him?"

Perplexed, the maid repeated, "Oui…"

"Was his apology cleverly worded and flattering?"

"Yes, it was."

"Then, yes, my encounters were _very_ similar. Soon he will be vying for your attention, become playful and romantic, make you feel like the only girl he could ever love, and then toss you aside to move on to the next pretty girl."

Babette didn't know what to say, as Angélique's eyes were full of steely fury, despite her attempts to appear as if she could care less. She finally asked softly, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course," Angélique muttered, then looked her straight in the eyes. "I can guarantee you that you are his next conquest."

Babette did not want to believe that was true, but knew deep down that it was.

"I would not give him any chances, if I were you," Angélique continued. "If I could repeat the past, I would refuse to speak with him." She paused. "You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders. I think you will fare better against him than me… I do not want another girl to be hurt like I was."

Babette could see clearly that this poor girl was in pain. She knew a broken heart when she saw one. To think that Lumière did this to her was appalling. How could she ever trust a man like that?

But how many hearts had she broken? She did not know, and she did not want to. She pushed the thought aside.

"I have been hurt by a man before in a situation much too alike," Babette sympathized. "The last thing I want is romance, trust me."

Angélique gave her a one-sided smile. "Then I think you are in fine shape."

* * *

Every servant was fully alert when the Spanish arrived. The royal family, some members of their court, and their valets and lady's maids were greeted by King Vincent and Queen Beatrice along with their son, Prince Adam, and a few of the servants. Maids were there to lead the servants carrying their luggage to the East Wing as both royal families went to the grand drawing room off of the vestibule.

A while afterward, a servant was sent to remind the royals and their children's caretakers that dinner was almost ready. As the kings and queens were seated, Lumière made sure the servers were ready to bring out the first course before he left the kitchen to greet their guests.

As he was informing them of the menu for the evening, Mrs. Potts and a Spanish maid were bringing the Prince and Princess Rosalía in from getting acquainted over Adam's toys. When Lumière caught a glimpse of the Spanish maid, he was able to absorb her in an instant: raven hair tied up in a bun that complimented her skin, which had a drop of caramel color in it, along with almond-shaped brown eyes peeking out from under long lashes.

He concluded his speech without missing a beat. He bowed before he locked eyes with the beautiful Spanish girl, who smirked subtly at him before he left them to eat.

After dinner was over and cleanup was finished, Lumière began to make his way back to his room, prepared to turn in after a long couple of days.

"Señor!"

Lumière paused at the foreign word and glanced behind him to see the Spanish maid from dinner approaching him. She had a very fine walk, he could not help but note.

"Or 'monsieur', rather," she corrected herself with a smile. " _Pardonnez-moi_."

"You speak French?" Lumière eyed her, surprised.

"Oui," she replied, adding suggestively, "As much as you like."

He assessed her with interest. "Allow me to introduce myself." As was the traditional French greeting, he kissed her hand. "I am Lumière."

"Iris."

"How can I be of service?"

"I have always wondered… are Frenchmen truly as romantic as they say?"

Lumière smiled at the question. "If you have to ask, I can only assume we are not living up to our name."

"I solely ask because, well, I tend to doubt rumors unless I have seen proof." Her chocolate brown eyes sparkled as she smirked playfully.

"Perhaps a demonstration will help." Lumière gently gripped her hand, leading her down the hall. "But I will need a volunteer."

* * *

The Spanish maid had apparently less of a mind to partake in playful banter than Lumière had originally thought. He preferred to savor in a dish instead of scarfing it down. That was not something they had in common. However, he was the last person that was going to complain.

Before he had closed the door to the servants' drawing room, Iris caught him by the mouth, kissing intensely while simultaneously bringing him to the chaise. Lumière had no trouble obliging. She climbed on his lap and he caressed her curves. As he began kissing her neck, she sighed in response, but earnestly brought his lips back to hers.

Without thinking, he whispered, "Oh, Babette…"

Iris didn't need to stop and stare for him to realize what he had let escape his lips undetected.

She narrowed her eyes. "I imagine there have been other women with the way you kiss, but I did not expect to be _confused_ for one of them."

Lumière could not reply as he was still startled, nor did he react at her standing up and leaving, all the while muttering bitterly about Frenchmen in Spanish.

In all his years, he had never called a woman by another's name, especially during. How had Babette even crossed his mind? Of course, he would have loved to have her in place of the Spanish maid, but she was not a main concern of his at the moment… was she?

He had to admit that Babette left a great impression on him that could not be easily erased, but to have imagined that she was the one he was kissing was something that should not have happened.

He had to clear his head. Some fresh air would do the trick. He went to grab his coat before heading outside.


	8. Agree to Disagree

When the Spanish royalty had retired to the East Wing, the servants were officially done working for the day. Since the night sky was clear, Babette took the opportunity to take a walk through the gardens.

After changing into her long black dress and donning her cloak, she stepped out into the windless night, the sweet aroma of the plethora of flowers hanging in the air.

Babette walked steadily through the hedges and parterres, admiring the great variety of flora: lilies bigger than Babette's hands, rosemary bushes, carnations, bluebells, iris flowers of all colors of the rainbow, tulips, hundreds of roses, and many of which she had never seen before. The Queen truly had marvelous taste, and the gardeners had a great eye.

She had to agree with Veronique that the gardens glowed under the moonlight. The way the petals and leaves reflected it made them seem luminescent. It was one of the most beautiful sights she had ever seen.

She had always prized her and her mother's garden at home. It was not as rich and full of diversity as the Queen's, but it was the one thing Babette and Clarisse shared and had worked together to help grow.

Sitting on the edge of one of the fountains, she gazed up at the night sky, trying to find constellations she had learned about in her lessons.

The sound of pebbles underfoot breached her ear, and Babette turned at the sound to find Lumière about to walk away. They caught each other's eye.

Lumière cleared his throat. "Do not mind me. I will refrain from disturbing you further."

"No, please," Babette felt herself say, somehow letting them slip out of her without proper consent. "Come and join me."

Surprised at the invitation, Lumière could not refuse. He cautiously made his way over and sat a reasonable distance from her. Babette's heart pounded as he did so, but she tried to calm it down; she took a deep breath of the cool night air. It was that foul beating organ that had gotten her into this less than welcome interaction in the first place, so she would have to let her much more capable mind get her out of it.

"Did you come to admire the night as well?" Babette asked amicably.

He tore his gaze from the cloudless sky to respond. "Oui, and it is indeed a perfect autumn night. I am glad I came outside."

"I had to see the gardens up close," she admitted. "This was my first opportunity to do so." She looked out over the flora. "They are very beautiful."

"I have to agree."

There was a delicate silence that permeated as they both observed their surroundings in opposite directions. Lumière ached to say something but could not think of anything that did not seem to pry.

"May I be honest with you?" he suddenly said.

Babette blinked, unsure of what his intentions could be. "I suppose you may…"

Lumière continued to give her an analyzing stare. "I cannot perceive you."

A shadow of a smile moved a corner of Babette's mouth, but she asked anyway, "How do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean," Lumière insisted, catching sight of her smirk. "Somehow, you have managed to evade my understanding, which rarely ever happens… Actually, which has _never_ happened."

"I do not think you realize you have managed to compliment me," Babette replied, her smirk growing wider. "To have you of all people confirm what I was most unsure about... I must thank you."

"No, thank you," Lumière replied facetiously, preferring to look at a spot in the hedge. "It's a miracle I have managed to please you at all."

"Hm, to evade _your_ understanding…" Babette mused, enjoying the turn the conversation had taken. "All of my worries have vanished! I was afraid you saw right through me."

"If only my insight had such an effect," he muttered bitterly under his breath. He didn't realize how frustrated he was about it until then, and it did not help that Babette seemed to like it that way. Over a decade of studying women and his hard-earned prowess on the subject was being challenged by a mere _girl_.

It was Babette's turn to examine Lumière. "Why are you really out here?"

Lumière faced her, laughing. "Oh no, I will not freely give out answers when you are withholding yours!"

Babette shrugged. "Fine. Ask me anything."

He raised an eyebrow, very skeptical, but Babette seemed completely relaxed and confident. "As you wish, mademoiselle: What did you think of me when you first met me?"

Babette chuckled. "That is the question you ask? I thought it was obvious enough."

"I want to hear the answer straight from your lips."

"To be frank, I did not like you at all."

Lumière smiled, confirming his thoughts. "And now?"

"Ah, ah," Babette stopped, raising a finger. "It is your turn to answer my question."

Lumière glanced away thoughtfully, figuring how to word his response. He then said, "I was spending a pleasurable moment with a Spanish maid, but the moment unfortunately turned sour."

"Ah oui, such a misfortune," Babette had to say, grinning because she understood. "I imagine with you that does not happen often."

"Recently, it has become more common, but I dare say my luck will turn around soon." His eyes sparkled at her.

Her smile evaporated, her body stiffening. This charade of his was about to end if she had anything to say about it. "If you believe it will change with me, then you are sorely mistaken," she immediately responded.

"Surely you cannot blame me for trying to charm a woman of your beauty."

"I have had my time with men trying to charm me, and I will inform you that that time has ended," Babette said concisely. "I would be glad if you did not attempt to pursue me again. I can guarantee we will get along in a much better way than before."

Despite his inability to perceive her, Lumière could sense that something had happened to make her become protective of her heart; the look she had was too similar to Angélique's for it not to be so.

"I only wish to be on good terms with you," he promised. "My pursuits of you end here." He held out his hand.

She glanced at his hand, then him, and she could only see sincerity. She felt her heart pound anew, but tried to ignore it. Again, she had to consider that she could not wage a war against this man for her own sake. She had to get along with everyone, no matter what. Time would tell if Lumière would keep his promise.

She shook his palm and smiled. "Thank you."

"Of course, _chérie_." He dared to kiss her hand in farewell, and she did not object. He stood. "I will take my leave now. Enjoy the rest of the night." He began to depart but stopped to say, "I hope I will see you in the kitchens once more, after breakfast?"

Babette nodded. "I believe you will."

He gave her a small smile before bowing. "Bonne nuit, mademoiselle."

"Good night."

As Lumière departed, he did his best not to glance back at her.

He had so many questions to ask her, yet he had to bite his tongue. She seemed to be warming up to him. Maybe when she became more comfortable, she would reveal herself without any prodding.

Then maybe after this mystery was solved, he could officially move past her, a hopeless prospect. If she was this steadfast against romance of any kind, it was best not to trifle with that. The last thing he wanted to do was incite her in the same way as Angélique. He could not bear the guilt of two shattered hearts in his wake.

He was never merely friends with women as attractive and charming as Babette, but there was a first time for everything. He at least wanted to try.

* * *

The night was getting colder. A short while after Lumière returned to the château, Babette followed.

Lumière had been walking away when he had seen her by the fountain. Why had she stopped him? What had possessed her?

He had been trying to respect her space, obviously understanding that that was what she had wanted… at least that was what she _thought_. Did she really want to keep her distance?

He was just as much of an enigma to her as she was to him, after all. After taking a better peek behind the curtain, she would be satisfied. Then she would not have to look any deeper. She could focus completely on being a decent maid until she returned home to eradicate her old reputation. She would be a new woman, mature and proper, and a worthy daughter to her parents. Then everything would be right in the world.

She looked up from her thoughts with a small shock as she found Cogsworth blocking her path.

He glanced at his pocket watch. "Eight-fifty-eight; Cutting it a little close, mademoiselle."

"Oh, right, the curfew," Babette remembered with a grimace. "I beg your pardon, monsieur. Time must have escaped me."

Cogsworth cocked an eyebrow, but nodded. "All right. See that it does not happen again."

"Of course, monsieur," Babette curtseyed as she skirted around the majordomo. "Bonne nuit."

"Good night," he replied, continuing on his way.

Babette chastised herself as she shut her door. She couldn't let things like curfew escape from her. She had to follow the rules this time, and avoid breaking them at all costs. There could be no more walking on thin ice like she had done almost her entire life. Living for the thrill of it… that selfish part of her life was over. She had to think about her responsibility to her family. They are all that should matter to her now.

* * *

"Have you apologized to her yet?"

During cleanup after breakfast, Cogsworth forwardly asked the maître d' this.

"Oui, quite humbly, too," Lumière replied.

"And?"

"We have come to an understanding. In fact, she will be here in an hour."

"Oh, well, splendid!"

"Why do you look surprised?"

The majordomo looked incredulous. "Were you not two days ago coming to me in grief over the girl? She also seems to dislike you very much. My surprise is completely justified!"

" _Seemed_ ," Lumière corrected, appearing smug. "She likes me now."

"I think she is just choosing to tolerate you, like everyone else here. But good work anyhow." He gave him a look. "Do not screw it up again."

Lumière rolled his eyes as Cogsworth departed. As if the majordomo would know Babette any better than him. He was not the one who was full of hot air.

* * *

Before Babette had headed to the kitchens, she had gotten her backstory organized. She repeated it in her mind: She had been a maid for the Chantemerle, specifically for the daughter, Élisabeth. She had worked there since she was young, when both her parents—who were also servants—had died and she was sent to work in another household by her previous master. She had been taught everything she knew by her parents, and from her years in the Chantemerle manor. It was truth, but of Bernadette. Babette was merely using her maid's origins as her own. Babette was sure she could make that convincing in case Lumière asked any more questions about her prior work.

So far, he had chosen not to ask again, which, if the circumstances between them had not changed, would have been wise. Oddly, she almost wanted him to ask again, just so she could prove to herself how well she knew her borrowed backstory.

He had also chosen to be completely professional, but not in a cold way as before. It was bothering Babette that he did not want to reveal anything of himself at all to her, like he had always done. Stiffness like that had always bothered her.

Great, so _she_ had to be the one to pry.

As she was learning to fold a napkin properly, she prompted casually, "Mrs. Potts has told me you have been serving here for… four years, was it?"

Lumière looked up, smiling at her interest—and at his success. He had wanted her to be the one to initiate conversation, and apparently, she did not want to be strictly professional. That was always a good sign.

"Oui, exactly four years next month," he confirmed. "It was quite a large step for me from my previous position."

"Where did you work before?"

"I actually came from the same area as you, La Clayette."

Lumière almost laughed at how startled Babette became. She stammered, "Where did you—when—how did you know I am from there?"

"Once you tell a maid anything, it is around the castle within a day. I happened to overhear it after lunch yesterday. I was surprised as well."

"Well, at least I did not tell them anything worse than that."

His eyes brightened as he suddenly inquired, "Did you really work for the Chantemerle?"

Babette knew where this was going. She sighed. "Oui."

Lumière leaned against the table across from her, enthralled. "What is the daughter's name again?"

"Élisabeth. I was her maid."

His eyes widened. "So you know everything!"

"All of the gory details," Babette groaned, keeping busy with her napkin.

"Oh, where to begin!" Lumière exclaimed. "I have heard so much about the elusive Chantemerle daughter—not always in the best of taste, I might add." He looked over sympathetically. "I am sure you have heard."

"Unfortunately."

"I am sure she—Élisabeth is a wonderful girl, but I have only heard how pleasurable she is to have as company," he added suggestively.

Babette rolled her eyes in frustration. Wanting to get all of it out at once, she hammered off, "Oui, she liked to spend her time with various messieurs. Non, she did not go out every night, but it _was_ most nights. Non, she never went any farther than kissing. And yes, she feels remorse for it now and wants to improve her behavior."

"Well, that is a shame," Lumière muttered.

She stared at him, choosing to ignore his comment. "Did I miss anything?"

"No, but only because you obviously do not want to talk about her," he noted, but had to add, "I still want to meet this girl."

"Then by all means, keep dreaming," Babette snapped. Of course, he would find her interesting. Especially after she had been made a disgrace in the eyes of women, and a fantasy in the eyes of men. _Oh, the look on his face if I ever tell him who I really am…_

Babette then realized she was not getting anywhere with plaiting a measly napkin. She threw it down. "What is the point of this? Why can it not be off to the side, folded—oh, I don't know— _simply_?"

Lumière chuckled at her exasperation. He came around the table, took the napkin from her, and began to fold it correctly. "It is all about presentation."

 _Again with presentation_ , Babette thought, just as Angélique had said. "I do not understand why they should care that much about how it looks. Why is that so important?"

"At first glance, appearances are all that matters," Lumière replied. "I am afraid that is the human condition."

"Appearances are not all that matters," Babette disagreed.

"You have to admit it helps. As I recall, you give great importance to first impressions," he reminded, glancing slyly at her.

"Oui, but that was not based on your looks, if you can also recall," Babette countered with a smirk.

Lumière stood the napkin, now shaped in a crown, on the table. "Voilà. You are only making it seem harder than it is."

Babette refrained from rolling her eyes again. "I will garnish the dishes for now," she concluded. "Someone else can deal with those ridiculous pieces of cloth."

"The others are about to come prepare for lunch anyway. You do not need to be back here for another hour, so until then…" He leaned in conspiratorially. "In the hallway next to the ballroom, there is a drawing room with a chaise that is perfect for afternoon naps." He straightened and shrugged. "If you are interested. I know you are probably exhausted of my company." He smirked as if this truth would not bother him in the least.

"And you would know because you understand me so well, oui?" Babette mocked playfully.

"Every time we meet, you are becoming clearer and clearer," Lumière returned in the same manner.

Her blue eyes glittered underneath her long lashes. "You are not the only one who can tell when another is lying, monsieur."

They realized that their voices had dropped to whispers, and their noses were inches away from each other's. They both turned away from the intense gaze they had shared onto the island with a sudden discomfort.

"Now that you mention it," Babette resumed, her voice a little higher than usual, "some rest sounds wonderful, thank you."

"Of course, mademoiselle, any time," he replied quickly, trying to act casual but was succeeding at it as well as Babette. He managed to smile as he said, "But watch out for Cogsworth. He would not be inclined to approve."

Babette mustered a laugh. "Yes, of course!" She headed for the door as she said, "I will be back in an hour." And the door was swinging shut before she could hear a reply.


	9. To Fight or Flee

Babette did not know how she could possibly relax now.

She had felt this pull to him while they had been talking, and he had obviously felt something similar. Her natural romantic instincts had been about to kick in, being mere inches away from a kiss, before she had stopped herself.

For some reason, he had an effect on her that she wasn't able to control. She had not even felt this way with Alphonse.

She knew by every means it was completely wrong, yet it felt completely right.

That was exactly what scared her.

As Babette laid on the chaise, she took deep breaths to try and clear her head.

She imagined she was in her garden, laying on the cool grass underneath the canopy of the maple tree, the blue cloudless sky just behind it. The smell of honeysuckle, rosebuds, and lavender filled her nose. A light breeze swept over her and through the grass, making the branches and leaves on the tree sway majestically above her. She sighed. It was a perfect summer day on the lawn of the Chantemerle manor.

She felt a warmth by her right side. Looking over, her vision of her future husband rested on his left arm, watching her. He was brave, compassionate, clever, handsome, and a true gentleman. Everything she could want. He leaned over, his eyes soft, gentle, and full of love. He moved his hand tenderly through her hair, chills rising where his fingers grazed her skin. Her heart pounded as he came closer. Symphonies seem to rise in a crescendo as their lips met in a perfect harmony.

She realized at the last minute that the man was Alphonse.

Babette woke with a start. She groaned morosely as she hid her face in the pillow, cursing to herself at letting her thoughts go so astray.

 _Dieu_ , was she an idiot. After all of this time, she still felt something for that rake. When was she going to learn? When was the wound going to close?

She hastily wiped the beginning of tears from her eyes. To be envisioning anything of that nature was the very last thing she should have been doing. She should have pictured herself _alone_ , for goodness' sake. Was that really so hard?

Even though she might have projected the epitome of an independent woman to others and even to herself, she could never picture herself without a man by her side. It was going to be a tough habit to break, but that was the first thing she had to fix if she wanted to get through this time at the château with her sanity intact.

Glancing at the clock, she had ten minutes until she had to be in the kitchens. After straightening her hair and dress, she made her way to lunch as she steeled herself in preparation for anything Lumière might throw her way.

* * *

Lumière was not usually grateful for work to be done, as much as he might enjoy his position, but if he had not had something to do after Babette had left, then he would have had too much to ponder.

As much as he wanted to keep his promise that he would not pursue her, she was making it incredibly difficult. She continued to evade him, yet allure him simultaneously. It had been all he could do to restrain himself from kissing her then and there.

She was obviously experienced. She had to be. No woman could be that naturally captivating without practice. She did not even have to try; she did not want romance, yet she exuded it with a tilt of her head, a certain look with her aquamarine eyes, a small smirk with her scarlet lips…

He would continue to try and keep his composure, because he still wanted to find out what made her so interesting. But if she began to suggest anything that flared a warning, he would act to prevent either of them from doing something that jeopardized their… whatever kind of relationship they had.

As the servers started coming in, Lumière kept an eye out for Babette. Truthfully, she would be easily forgiven if she did not come at all. In fact, it was a little surprising when she _did_ walk through the doors.

She went straight to work, without a glance in his direction. She kept her back to him as she followed the other servers' lead in garnishing the dishes. She stepped aside to let the more experienced staff do the serving. This occurred for the next two courses. As soon as cleanup began, Babette slipped out with hardly a soul noticing. And Lumière didn't say a word about it.

Mrs. Potts looked over at him curiously as she began washing dishes. "Lumière, is something on your mind? You're oddly quiet."

Lumière only then realized how he had been acting. Damn that girl! His mind had been entirely occupied by her.

He quickly recovered with his usual grin. "Not at all! Why would you say so?"

Mrs. Potts shrugged, but she had an all-knowing smile as she nodded to the doors where Babette had vanished. "Babette was awfully quiet, too."

"Really? I hardly noticed," he replied convincingly.

"Mm-hmm," Mrs. Potts hummed, not convinced.

Lumière was glad she decided to drop it, even though she could see pretty clearly what was occurring between him and the maid. The last thing he wanted to talk about—even if he could put it into words—was the situation with Babette.

Now he was going to be very aware about how he acted in the kitchens when Babette was present: Like nothing was wrong, he was just his usual self, and there were no complications going on at all with any particular maid. _Par Dieu_ , the last thing on his mind would be that maid.

* * *

Perhaps ignoring him was not the best method, but Babette was just thankful it had worked. Being able to sense his gaze immediately, she had felt him glance over at her a few times, but he hadn't said a word to her. Was he not going to acknowledge it? Could they pretend it did not happen?

Her stomach churned as she realized she still had dinner to get through. Reliving that again was going to be torturous.

Should she not even go? No, that would suggest something was wrong, and there was a chance he would ask why. Although, since he would already know why, he should disregard it. Oh, why could she not predict what he would do?

Babette pressed her hands to her forehead. This was why she does not continue affiliations with men she had been with. Even though Lumière might have promised to no longer try to charm her, she feared that she would not be able to resist if he ever broke that promise. It was best to ignore him.

She willed her mind to focus, focus on the reason she was there, the lesson she needed to learn, the impending responsibilities of her family… Focus on the end, whenever that might be.

Miraculously, Babette managed to clear her mind as she thought of why romance was secondary to what she must change and how she must grow to please her parents and become the image of a responsible noble daughter. Just the thought of her family calmed her down.

Babette opened her eyes and glanced over to the small jewelry box on her vanity. She went straight to it and opened the box. Inside were only a few trinkets which Babette never wore except for special occasions. Her hand clasped the opal hair comb from her father. Assessing her reflection, she brought her long tresses into a bun at the nape of her neck and pinned it in place with the hair comb. She decided she would wear it every day to remind her of what she must and mustn't do.

All of her worries up until now are minor, insignificant. She could work at dinner. What was one man to prevent her from following her parents' wishes?

* * *

In the days that followed, Babette was present for every meal, but worked them all the same way: garnished the dishes, stepped aside for the servers to leave and return, did that for the next few courses, all the while ignoring the maître d', and left afterwards before cleaning began without a word.

Lumière could form no ideas of how to return to speaking terms with her. She wanted to pretend that what had happened hadn't, yet she was going about it in a way that only kept it alive without confronting it.

On the night of the last dinner before the Spanish and their entourage bid them "adios", four of the servers decided not to show up. If it had been fewer, it would not have been a problem. There was always a server that made the decision not to work a meal. But to appear short-staffed in front of guests was a horrible impression to give, and royal guests always noticed that sort of thing, no matter how kind and forgiving they were.

Reminding himself that he was not one to panic, Lumière glanced over at the servers garnishing the plates with Babette among them. She had no experience, but she had been trained. He didn't have another option.

Walking away from the cooks, he called to her. "Babette."

She tilted her head as if to make sure she had heard correctly, and dared to glance up. Lumière motioned for her to come over. Hesitantly, Babette wiped her hands on a towel and went over to him.

"We have a problem," he began seriously.

She looked back at her fellow servers. For the past two weeks, she had been wearing her dark chocolate tresses in a conservative bun. "So I have noticed."

"We cannot appear short-staffed in front of the Spanish," Lumière clarified. "I am afraid you cannot stay behind tonight."

Babette seemed to pale at the thought, but managed to keep eye contact with him. "Are you sure?"

"You are the only option I have." She averted her blue eyes immediately, and he just as quickly added, "You have nothing to worry about. As long as you follow the others' lead, you should not have any trouble." He smiled slyly. "Besides, you have been trained by the best."

Finding herself encouraged, Babette had to smile back, and chastised, "We can all inflate our egos after this ordeal is over and done with."

"Then we'll let the wine be poured," he remarked implicitly. Babette replied with a genuine grin before they returned to work.

In a few minutes, the servers had the trays loaded with the first course. Babette was in the back of the line with a bottle in hand to fill the guests' glasses with white wine. She took a deep breath as Lumière opened the door for them. As they filed out, he nodded to Babette with a one-sided smile, and she reflected it.

The servers split off around the table, collectively setting the plates in front of the diners. Babette went straight to the head of the table where the King sat, and poured the wine in the glass closest to her from the King's right hand side. She proceeded clockwise around the table in the same way. The guests politely waited to eat until she filled the last glass.

Getting back into the kitchen, she realized she had been holding her breath. Releasing it, she gave the wine back to Lumière, who was grinning as he said, "That was not so bad, was it?"

She gave him a look that made him laugh before she went to garnish the next course.

When a server brought in the used dishes, the next course was sent out with Babette carrying a bottle of champagne instead.

As the dinner went on, Babette become steadily more comfortable. She did not make eye contact with any of the royals, as she had been told. She never stumbled or spilled the drinks. The repetition was actually quite relaxing.

She did not become aware that the dinner was over until she saw the rest of the staff beginning to clean up.

"Are you about to run off again?" Lumière asked teasingly.

She felt silly that she had been running away from him, but she shrugged nonchalantly. "Since you are short-handed tonight…"

Cocking an eyebrow, he chuckled. "How gracious of you!"

* * *

As the rest of the staff was leaving and Babette was about to follow, she glanced back at the call of her name again to see Lumière pouring red wine into two glasses. "Have a drink," he insisted.

She looked at him quizzically. "What is this for?"

"When I said 'we'll let the wine be poured', that was not a figure of speech." He handed her the other glass. "This past fortnight has been exhausting."

"Is it normally like this when we have guests stay here?"

He took a draught of his wine. "Not usually. This was a special case since the Spanish were here on such important business. It was not just being on our best behavior, it was giving them the best we could provide. Now we can at least relax a little!"

"They have not left the château yet," Babette reminded as she sipped her glass.

"But my job is done, and that is all I care about." He referred to her over the brim of his glass. "You still have to clean up after them."

"Oh joy," Babette muttered. "That will be the highlight of my day, seeing the kinds of messes Spanish royalty makes."

Lumière smiled as he gazed at her. "How do you like working here?"

She looked up at the question, nodding. "I like it here. I truly do."

"Different from before, eh?" he inquired, smirking.

She hummed a laugh. "Ah, oui, they are worlds apart." Remembering the role she must play, she added, "I am no longer a caretaker for a rebellious mistress."

Lumière tilted his head. "Caretaker?"

After another draught out of her glass, she said effortlessly, "Oui, I had to keep vigil outside her bedroom every night so she did not suddenly sneak out." Although she spoke the truth partway, she found it a little too easy to speak as the maid instead of as her true title.

He appeared to find nothing amiss as he took in her words. "Really? Why so eager to escape?"

Babette shrugged, then replied softly, "She was not happy with the life she was given."

He thought on that for a moment, and reflected, "You know, there are many that assume that an aristocrat's life is easier than that of a servant, but having seen the responsibilities that they must carry out firsthand, I can sympathize with her plight. Their lives are no easier than ours. In fact, I would say they are even harder."

Babette only nodded, taking to her wine. She was not sure whether to feel gratified at his words or terrified to see that what he said was profoundly true. She had the more difficult life. Cleaning and pouring champagne was a waltz in comparison.

She downed the rest of her wine and handed the glass to him. "Merci. I needed that more than I thought."

"Of course." Lumière seemed to hesitate, but asked, "Out of curiosity, are the Chantemerle coming to the masquerade?"

Babette frowned. "Masquerade? Here?"

He chuckled. "I can assume that's a 'no', then."

She shook her head, trying to recall. "I do not believe they have ever been invited."

"It is more of a local event," he replied, shrugging. "It's the only ball we open to the general public."

"When is it?"

"All Souls' Day."

"Why, that is next week!" Babette groaned. "All of the preparations… I can expect to be sore very soon. Adieu to any relaxation whatsoever!"

"If you cannot do without your daily afternoon nap now, you will not last until Christmas."

"I can do without them!" she defended, crossing her arms. "I just enjoy having the luxury."

"Luxury," he repeated humorously. "Something we have never been able to afford, _chérie_."

"Why should it be so exclusive?" Babette dared to question. "Does not everyone deserve a little bit of luxury every now and then?"

Lumière stared at her curiously. "You have not been a servant long, have you?"

Babette's stomach churned at his words, but she told herself he was not being suspicious. "What? Is it so wrong to ask a simple question?"

"It wouldn't be if your questions were simple. Having an inquisitive mind like yours could be dangerous."

"I have always taken being inquisitive as a compliment," she expressed.

"In this line of work, it is better to keep your thoughts to yourself. Luckily for you, I do not mind you questioning the natural order of things." He toasted to her. "Your secrets are safe with me."

She mock-curtsied. "Oh, how gracious of you!"

At that moment, the majordomo strode in, only to stop abruptly at the sight of the two of them. Babette immediately straightened while Lumière refused to move from his comfortable position by the counter, casually finishing off the rest of his wine. There was a moment of silence as Cogsworth eyed the pair in turn.

"Ah, Cogsworth!" Lumière greeted as he set his empty glass down, the majordomo's expression purposefully going past his notice. "Care for a glass of Beaujolais?"

Cogsworth responded to that with a bewildered look, his mind having been trying to discern why the maid and maître d' were alone together. "Mademoiselle, I recommend that you turn in, seeing that the Spanish leave early tomorrow and you must be awake to assist them in their departure."

Babette could not help but quickly glance at Lumière before nodding in compliance. "Of course, monsieur." As she went out the doors, she appeared worried.

Lumière furrowed his eyebrows at Cogsworth. "What was the reason for that?"

"What are you up to?" he snapped.

Lumière gave a broad grin. "You, _mon ami_ , are much too suspicious."

Cogsworth looked outraged. "I have every right to be suspicious! _Especially_ of you, the king of philandering!"

The maître d' bit his tongue to stifle his laughter as he grabbed another wine glass. "Cogsworth, you are quite obviously exhausted from the Spanish's stay. I can assure you that whatever kind of scenario between me and Babette you may have concocted in that anxiously whirring brain of yours is completely imaginary." He thrust a full glass of wine into Cogsworth's hand and patted his shoulder. "For your health, I insist you drink."

The major domo frowned at him, setting the glass aside. "Do not try and make this about me, Lumière. What were you two conspiring about?"

Lumière had to laugh that time. "Cogsworth, we were just talking! Frankly, you should be more surprised you did not catch us doing worse."

Cogsworth blushed, but pointed an accusing finger at him. "Ohh Lumière, you better not be trying to swindle that poor girl into your clutches. She has more important things to worry about than trying to keep you at bay!"

Lumière looked at him strangely, and Cogsworth began to worry if he had said too much. He then added, "Well I can't go concerning myself with all of the girls you put in emotional ruin, now, can I? I need them working, not crying over their… _feelings_."

The maître d' rolled his eyes as he corked the wine bottle. "You honestly have nothing to worry about. We are only friends."

Cogsworth was still incredibly dubious.

"As you can probably guess, that is not necessarily my decision," Lumière clarified rather sourly.

"Of course it's not," Cogsworth retorted. "But when exactly did you agree to that?"

"The night before she began working meals again."

"And you're willing to… honor that agreement?"

"Cogsworth, despite your convictions of me, I have always been a man of my word. And I especially do not intend to break it with a beautiful and intelligent girl like Babette."

Cogsworth thought on that for a minute. "Fine. I believe you," he accepted. "I only hope you do not tempt _her_ to break it." Lumière was about to retaliate but Cogsworth added, "And I don't necessarily mean on purpose."

Lumière slowly shut his mouth as he stared, his rebuttal having been rendered useless by the majordomo's last words. After giving him a meaningful glance, Cogsworth left the kitchen, his wine left untouched.


	10. Rumors

To Babette's displeasure, she went to sleep worrying what Cogsworth had chastised Lumière about, though she already knew the answer: her.

The worst part of it was she actually felt… _guilt_.

What did it matter to her if the majordomo told Lumière to keep his distance? It did not change anything, and the matter had already been settled. Nothing had occurred between them anyway.

But somehow, she had a feeling deep in her gut that Cogsworth was not the best at keeping secrets. What if he let something slip in the middle of his berating speeches? The last thing Babette wanted Lumière to know was that _she_ was Élisabeth de Chantemerle.

Oh, what was she fretting about? This was none of her concern. If Cogsworth let anything lapse during his rants, Lumière would most certainly mention it to her, and she could come up with a simple explanation… right?

As Babette set out to tidy the East Wing, she pushed the thoughts from her mind. More important duties awaited her.

Luckily, the royal family was very good about keeping their rooms as neat as possible, which Babette and the other maids appreciated. However, the valets and lady's maids were less inclined to follow their masters' example; they had taken clear advantage of the fact that servants outside of themselves were going to be cleaning their messes for them. It almost looked like they had rummaged the rooms on purpose. All of their beds were completely out of sorts, to put it gently. The girls' rooms had powder, red paints, and pomades left all over the vanities and mirrors. One of them had broken a vase of flowers and had left it scattered on the carpet. No one could tell how long the glass had been laying there. The most vulgar thing was finding some half-eaten fruit under the bed, probably forgotten after an afternoon snack.

Pulling out a brown apple core using the tips of her fingernails, Babette cursed, " _Les Espagnols_."

" _Les Espagnols_ ," the other maids agreed, shaking their heads at the Spanish servants' disrespect.

As Babette was going to fetch some fresh cleaning water, she noticed the handfuls of flowers sitting in buckets on the hallway floor to be disposed of when all of the cleaning was done. They were only a day old, but the bouquets would be ground and made into nutrients for the soil, like the other flowers. Their scents filled the corridor, and Babette decided to snatch a bunch for herself before they were finished. She rather preferred having fresh blooms on her nightstand. She took a vase out with her to clean and fill with water along with the bucket of suds she already carried.

Babette was not sure if it was improper to take flowers prepared for disposal into her bedroom for herself, but she made sure that no maid saw that she did, just in case.

She set the vase of beautiful flora on the end table closest to her window, the mid-morning sun shining brightly through the glass. The room felt more comfortable simply by having some vivid colors by her bedside.

Since she still had an hour before lunch, she continued sprucing up the guest room hallways. It was not very long until she felt someone walking along down it. She did not glance up to see who it was until they were just upon her. Her back erected. "Lumière!"

The maître d' smirked at her surprise. "Bonjour to you too, _chérie_."

Babette was too lost in thought to acknowledge his greeting. Her mind had gone straight to her ponderings the night before. "Lumière, I was thinking… well, wondering what Cogsworth might have talked to you about last night. You were not in trouble, were you?"

His gaze seemed to soften for only a moment before his roguish grin brought back that mischievous sparkle to his eye. "Naturally I was. But there is never an instance where Cogsworth does not believe I lack a hidden agenda." He inspected her lightly. "Why do you ask?"

"I was only hoping you were not in trouble because of me," she replied as nonchalantly as possible.

With a subtle twinkle in his eye, Lumière crossed his arms before taunting, "Oh, _chérie_! You could not have been concerned for _me_ , by all means!"

Appearing to realize this for the first time, she said, "It seems as though I was… How did such a ridiculous thought occur to me?"

As she turned her back on him to resume her work, he came to her side. "Well, no matter how fleeting your concern may be, I appreciate it nonetheless." He paused while Babette hid a small smirk as she dusted, and continued, "But… since you mentioned it, you just so happened to be the subject of our conversation last night."

She closed her eyes for a moment, the smirk swiftly leaving her lips. "I feared as much."

"He seems to worry that there may be something going on between us." Lumière was incapable of hiding his smile as he said, "Then again, he was not the only one."

Babette spun to face him. "What do you mean?" she questioned, her tone trying to remain steady.

"Strange. For a maid, you have a poor grasp on the castle gossip," he noted.

She gritted her teeth. "What are they saying?"

"It is quite humorous, actually." And it was obvious he found it as so. "They believe you finally gave way to my affections last night; that your little game of resistance was over." At Babette's outraged expression, he cried with jaunty sarcasm, "I know! Preposterous!"

" _Dieu_ , I _hate_ gossip," Babette spat. "No wonder the maids were unusually quiet today. How could I not realize!" She suddenly turned on him. "Did you say something to them?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You cannot be suggesting _I_ started the rumor."

She shrugged, eyeing him. "How should I know? I can see how much you enjoy your reputation as the château's Don Juan."

Lumière chuckled. "I did not think it was that obvious."

"Is that a confession?"

" _Chérie_ , I do not need to spread petty gossip to maintain my reputation," he replied, brushing off the suggestion. He shook his head at her with that agonizing grin. "You are taken it much more seriously than you should."

"Well, _pardonnez-moi_ if I have a certain disdain for the spreading of lies," Babette responded.

"That, I can understand," he conceded, "but _you_ must understand that the servants do not get out of the château very often. They have to live through stories concocted by the creative minds of hopelessly romantic maids. All things considered, you should pity them instead of feigning a damsel in distress."

Babette scuffed at that comment. "I am many things, monsieur, but a damsel in distress I am not."

Lumière suppressed a pang of longing as he stared back into the blue fire in her eyes. "Then perhaps you should not act so persecuted, mademoiselle. The servants here have more important tasks to complete than to speculate on what makes you tick."

Babette relaxed as she tilted her head. She took two slow seductive steps toward him as she responded in a sultry voice, "Really? Because, as I seem to recall, you would _love_ to know what makes me… tick."

She smirked triumphantly when Lumière looked as if he had a rug pulled out from under him. She spun on her heel and cantered away until she was out of sight.

Lumière had been dominating the conversation, had almost had her on the run, and then she turned the tide and left him speechless.

She was remarkable.

* * *

As the masquerade ball approached, the time for idle chatter grew short. Every servant was put to work to prepare for the costumed masses from the neighboring towns that would flock to the castle all too soon.

Babette and some of the other maids helped Angélique decorate according to her vision. They braided garlands of black, silver, and gold and wrapped them around the columns in the ballroom, and replaced the candles of multi-tiered candelabra to set on the black table runner in the foyer outside the ballroom. An hour before the guests came, the kitchen staff were scurrying around preparing copious amounts of hors d'oeuvres.

At promptly eight o' clock, guests began to pull across the bridge. As they stepped out of their carriages, the fantasy or modesty of their costumes distinguished their social ranking, and the range was quite large. Masks of all shapes, sizes, and distinctions graced their faces. Masked servants greeted them by the door and took away their hats and shawls before they followed the crowd to the ballroom. As the last carriage pulled away from the drive, over one hundred people stood under the brilliant glow of the ballroom's chandeliers.

The King, Queen and son were alighted on their thrones by the enormous windows that half-circled the grand elliptical room. Before her husband was about to speak to their guests, the Queen murmured to the Prince, who sat on her lap, to run to Mrs. Potts, who took him away to prepare for bed. As King Vincent stood, the mingling crowd quieted and turned their attention to their monarch.

"Mesdames et messieurs, bonsoir," he greeted in a booming voice. "The Queen and I would like to welcome you to our home for a night of fun and frolic, as well as mystery and romance, on the third and final day of Hallowmas. We would like to thank you all for joining us for this special occasion. We hope you enjoy what we have to offer. Now, let the music commence!"

There was a resounding cheer as the minuet began. As the crowd made a ring around the room, the King took the Queen out to the middle of the floor. Soon, the higher ranking aristocrats joined them, and eventually the room seemed to swirl as couples in glittering costumes and masks spun around the room. Gaggles of chatting guests began to form in the outer rim of the ballroom by the columns.

With the guests hiding their identities, the staff also took part in the practice. Babette carried a tray of flutes filled with champagne through the crowd as she wore a silver winged mask with a small emerald plume. She had to keep making trips to the kitchen for more drinks, her tray always filled with empty glasses upon return. Although she was on her feet the entire time, she was enjoying herself. The energy in the room was tangible, and with everyone becoming bubbly from the champagne, the laughter became louder, the jokes more crude, and the dancing more flurried.

As she was leaving the kitchen stocked with more spirits, she was almost poked in the eye by a long-nosed harlequin mask. She nearly dropped the drinks but the masked man grasped the tray to keep it steady. They were stopped in an awed silence as the champagne swished to a halt in its glasses.

" _Mon Dieu_!" Babette finally gasped, releasing her held breath.

"My sincerest apologies, mademoiselle," the harlequin said. He was still gripping her tray. "Can you manage?"

"Oui, of course," she mustered, her knuckles almost white as she held on to it tightly with both hands. They both relaxed. "At least you have the reflexes to make up for that nose of yours… or perhaps you are trying to compensate for something else."

As the man grinned, Babette knew immediately who it was before he took off the mask. As he looked at its protruding nose, Lumière replied, "Not quite. However, I did not predict it would prove to be such a hazard."

As more of a courtesy, Babette took off her mask as well. Glancing up without a hint of surprise, he continued charmingly, "It would be a tragedy to cause damage to eyes as mesmeric as yours."

"I am just happy that I am not going blind," Babette stated, by all means hoping she was not blushing. "I only ask you are more careful when you are wearing that thing; No need for any ladies to lose an eye over some hors d'oeuvres."

"Duly noted," Lumière said, his smile fading, and Babette realized she might have replied more coldly than intended. "Not that they need any more, but you should not keep them waiting for their champagne." And he passed her to refill his tray.

Despite the guilt rising up, she shoved it back down, replaced her mask, and went back into the crowds. She could fix that matter with him later.

Amidst the chatter, Babette heard her name mentioned, including "de Chantemerle."

Perking her ears up, she tried to track the voice. It floated above the boisterous groups and partners, and she recognized that voice was one she knew from a couple years ago. Sliding through the throng, she spotted a man without a mask talking to a pretty girl. His back was to Babette, but she could determine who he was by the side of his face. She definitely knew him.

"… more than an awful flirt. She's a pure seductress. I should have had more resistance against her devilish ways, I know. I was completely helpless when she chose to prey on me! I am… rather ashamed to admit it, but… she almost had me. It was just… she gave herself up so willingly, I felt as if I could not deny her."

Babette felt the blood rush to her ears. She wanted to slap him then and there, especially in front of the dainty one he was trying to gain sympathy from. But she could only listen for more.

"I was… entirely under her spell. I was about to devote all of myself to her, but then she fled from me, right to another man without a single glance in my direction, like I was a plaything getting tossed aside, one of many."

"So I've heard," the girl concurred, soaking in his pathetic tale. Babette wanted to scream. "Isn't she in a convent now?"

"She may not deserve the chance, after all the hearts she broke… including mine, but God may be the only man who would take her now."

"Good riddance," the girl comforted. "For the sin she has wallowed in, I am glad she will not haunt your town anymore."

That was it. Babette could not take the lies anymore. She saw the nearest servant and shoved the tray of drinks into his arms. Not caring in the least who saw, she ran for the exit, tears blinding her vision. She needed to get away.

As Lumière finished filling his tray with more hors d'oeuvres, a flabbergasted server came into the kitchen with a tray of filled champagne flutes. "Um, Lumière, a girl just ran out of the ballroom… and she left this with me."

The maître d' furrowed his brow. "What mask was she wearing?"

"Uh, silver… with a green feather."

Lumière sighed. "I will fetch her."

"Who is it?"

"Cover for me," was all he said as he swept out of the kitchens.

* * *

By God's graces, what possessed that girl to always run? She seemed like such a rash and emotional creature, with reason escaping her until it was forced down her throat. Why on earth would he desire a woman like that?

And yet, the chase continued.

Lumière searched the rooms nearest to the ballroom but without success. He took a corridor streamed with moonlight on his way to check Babette's bedroom. Gazing out the windows, he paused.

Of course. Only someone as irrational as she would flee outdoors in this weather.

As soon as he stepped outside, a bitter wind nipped at his exposed skin. The leaves of the rosebushes rustled as he kept his ears tuned to any noises Babette might cause. Along the main garden path, a silver glint caught his eye by his feet. He picked up the discarded mask with its dark green plume. His instincts had been correct.

Hot on her trail, Lumière was checking every path and behind every hedge until a sob was heard floating on the wind. Towards the middle of the garden maze, he found her crouched behind a hedge in an attempt to protect herself from the cold. Tears fell freely down her flushed cheeks unto her apron. She held a hand to her mouth to prevent more sobs from escaping her. Tendrils of hair that had fallen free from her bun blew around her face, and all the while she trembled.

The sight yanked at Lumière's heartstrings. Thoughts of her recklessness evaporated from his mind. He hurried over to her.

At the sound of footsteps approaching, Babette looked up, but then immediately turned away, releasing a pitiful moan.

" _Dieu_ , I came to be alone for a _reason_!" she wept. In her jumbled mind, the only reasoning she could pull from it was, "I look awful when I cry!"

" _Chérie_ , it would take so much more than a few tears to change my opinion of you," he spoke gently as he kneeled next to her. He pulled a handkerchief from the inside of his coat and held it out to her.

She stared at it as if trying to discern any wicked intentions in its threads, but slowly took it from him and began wiping her eyes and cheeks.

Lumière took a seat beside her as he patiently waited for her to calm down. Eventually, Babette glanced over at him and asked, "How did you find me?"

He held up her mask. "An intuitive guess."

She looked away, fiddling with the edge of her apron. "I am sorry I ran out in that way."

"You do not have to apologize, but… I would appreciate a little bit of an explanation."

Her instinct was to give him the whole story, but she hesitated. Was she being wise in telling him anything?

She took a deep breath. "It… was a man. Someone I knew from La Clayette."

He considered that. "Do you have a name?"

She was about to lie, but upon second thought realized Lumière was not unfamiliar with secret rendezvous. "Raoul de Levís, son of the Vicomte de Taizé."

Lumière found himself impressed, but refrained from showing it. "I have heard of him. Not the most humble of men."

Babette let out a harsh laugh. "Non. Not the most honest either."

Noblemen and maids having affairs was not uncommon, after all. Still, he tread carefully. "Do you and Raoul have a… history?"

She swallowed. "Yes. A brief one, but… one all the same."

"Was he… bitter?"

"'Bitter' is an understatement," she replied, repulsed. "He was slandering my name, which is… filthier than I thought." Tears formed at the corner of her eyes, and small sobs broke from her throat anew. A strong wind swept by them, and Babette began to shake.

Lumière sat up and took off his dress coat. As he attempted to place it around her shoulders, she flinched like a timid animal.

"Wear it," he ordered firmly. When he got it on her shoulders, he took her hand. She instantly retracted it. "Babette, you are as cold as ice. We need to get you inside."

She paused, contemplating. She decided to stand, and she let Lumière help her. But she shook away from him before they walked back to the castle. Striding ahead of him, she kept his coat pulled tightly around her.

As fragile as she appeared, she was still fighting him. He thought she had finally receded. What did he have to do to earn her trust?

Lumière kept a very close eye on her until they made it to her bedroom. As soon as he shut the door, he pulled her vanity bench to the burning hearth, which Babette went straight to. He went to her linen closet, took out a blanket, and placed it on her shoulders over his coat, all the while hardly looking at her. He retreated to lean against a bedpost while Babette sat toward the fire, feeling more and more perturbed as the silence between them became more acute. He had withdrawn again because of her behavior.

At last, she could not take it. She heaved an exhausted sigh as she glared at the fire. "Lumière."

He shifted his arms across his chest. His undertones were cold. "Yes?"

"I… I am sorry for… how I acted. I do not mean to hurt you."

"Yet you still seem to believe I carry that intention toward you."

She closed her eyes. "It is not your fault. It's mine."

When he remained silent, she felt compelled to add, "I do not trust myself… my judgment, I mean."

Still he did not reply. "I… have trusted the wrong people in the past. The last one I believed in…" She realized she couldn't finish as the pain Babette had been repressing since her arrival at the château rose to the surface, and she started to cry once more.

Empathy melted Lumière's cold shoulder. The girl acted so tough, he had almost forgotten she was still heartbroken. "You have been hurt before."

She twisted in her seat to look at him, confirming everything. Shame made her turn away again.

He gradually broke away from the bed to see her face, halting by the mantel. "Who was he?"

She shook her head, hastily wiping at her eyes. "What does it matter? He made me believe he loved me when I was only one of many others." She did not want to cry anymore. She wanted to lash out, but knew that at this point, getting angry with her only ally was not going to solve anything. She slowly took a breath.

Lumière would be the last to say he was perfect; He had his weaknesses and idiotic impulses. He was only a man, after all. But there was a line he did not cross, and that was tricking women into believing feelings were where none existed. If this man could cajole an experienced young woman like Babette into believing he had felt love for her, then he was a scoundrel indeed. He held no respect for men who kept a pitiable amount of esteem for the gentler sex.

After a moment, Lumière said strongly, "You should never fret over any man that wrongs you in such a way. I have met enough to know there is hardly a redeemable quality in cowards." Babette glanced up at him, a bit startled at his response. He quickly faced his feet with a wry smile before adding, "Well, I suppose all men are, and I am certainly no exception."

Her eyes never left him. He resumed, "I am sure you know Angélique."

Babette nodded. "She mentioned what you did in… so many words."

"I am not surprised. I am not proud of what occurred between us. Now she will not let me forget it." He quietly sighed. Although he hadn't intended to fool the castle decorator, he still felt like a hypocrite at the thought of her.

Babette understood that she should not have sympathy for him, since Alphonse practically committed the same crime against her, but Lumière was different than her former lover. She could clearly see that now. "If you are truly sorry for what you did, she should have the courtesy to forgive you. She will in time. She is… still hurting."

"That is the part I am most ashamed of." His eyes were full of regret, and Babette knew then she was looking at an honest man.

In her sincerest way, she assured, "Showing you are sorry for your actions is more than what half the men in this world can do. As long as you learn from your mistakes."

Lumière gave her a small smile and she returned it genuinely. He then said, "Why don't you get some rest? I think you have had enough excitement for one night."

"'Excitement' is one way of putting it," Babette giggled. He chuckled too. "Well, if you do not need me, I will not refuse."

As she walked him to her door, taking the blanket with her, she suddenly became worried. "Oh, what about Cogsworth? He probably noticed us missing."

He took her hand in both of his reassuringly. "Do not worry, _chérie_. I will take care of him." He slipped her a sly wink and smirk before kissing her hand in farewell.

Babette's mind went fuzzy for a second before she cried, "Wait, your coat!" She let the blanket fall to the floor and handed his coat to him.

"Ah, merci, _ma chère_ ," he thanked, slipping it back on and straightening the lapels.

"Lumière," she spoke softly, gaining his undivided attention. "I want to thank you for, well…" She smiled. "… everything that you did tonight."

His intense regard made her heart palpitate. As if they were the truest words ever spoken, he replied, "It was my absolute pleasure." He grasped her hand and brought it slowly to his lips. "Sleep well, _ma chère_ Babette." His fingers lingered in hers, along with his gaze, until the very moment he departed.

Closing the door, as Babette was begging her heart to calm down, she acknowledged that she could no longer find a reason to distrust him. Lumière clearly had nothing but the best intentions toward her, although part of that might be caused by his proclaimed attraction to her.

She stared at the handkerchief still in her grip. Despite what she knew was right, she had to admit to herself that she quite liked the attention.


	11. Allegations

During cleanup after the masquerade, the majordomo burst into the kitchen. "Where on _earth_ have you been?"

Lumière glanced up in mild surprise. "All right, Cogsworth, what could have possibly been your most recent hallucination?"

Despite being a head shorter than the maître d', Cogsworth stood toe-to-toe with him. "Do not _mock_ me, Lumière, and don't play dumb! A little bird informed me you went off with some girl during the latter half of the ball."

Lumière turned to the meek server, whose cheeks were flushing. He called the server out with a finger. "I will speak with you later." The server grimaced, shying away to hide behind other working staff.

Cogsworth became more infuriated as he spoke. "In the middle of a gala event, I cannot believe you would shirk your duties _again_ to fly on the wings of your fancy! I expect a very good explanation for such incompetent, irresponsible behavior!"

"If it would please your headly-ness," Lumière countered coolly, "should we not continue this enthralling lecture outside?"

"I do not appreciate your tone, Lumière, and I will not stand— _hey!_ " Lumière began to push the majordomo with a matter of ease toward the kitchen doors as Cogsworth, being unable to put up a resistance, cried, "Stop it, _stop it_ , I say!"

As they came into the hallway, Cogsworth's face was a bright red. "Are you _mad?_ " He straightened his maroon tailcoat. "Unbelievable! You cannot jostle me in front of other servants in that manner! I will not tolerate my authority being challenged!"

"Do you want an explanation, or would you rather listen to yourself ramble for the rest of the night?"

"I—" Affronted, Cogsworth wanted to retaliate, but bit his tongue and crossed his arms. He waved at Lumière to continue.

Lumière gave a short, sarcastic bow in thanks. "The girl you speak of, who was a server, had run out of the ballroom in distress because of one of the guests. I simply went to retrieve her from the gardens so she would not become ill from the cold."

"I see. And who was the girl?"

"In regards to the girl, I would rather you use your imagination."

"Lumière!"

"Truly, it is such an insignificant detail. What matters is she is safe and out of the cold; a problem solved that never needed your attention." He inclined his head with mock humility. "You're welcome."

Cogsworth drummed his fingers on his arm for a moment. "You know, there was someone in particular I did not see in the kitchens that should be present."

Feigning surprise, Lumière asked, "Really? I cannot say I agree."

"Naturally," Cogsworth muttered. With unwavering eyes narrowed, he questioned, "Lumière, if I may be so bold, are you trying to protect Babette or your own skin?"

As though suddenly remembering, he cried, "Ah! Yes, of course, I forgot to mention: Babette had a sudden dizzy spell during the ball. She almost dropped an entire tray of champagne flutes. Luckily, I happened to be passing by, or there could have been a disaster on my hands, and your neck," he emphasized, discreetly adding, "Again, you are welcome," before resuming. "So, being as she could drop a platter of expensive glasses at any moment, I dismissed her to get some rest, as she so obviously needed it." He clasped his hands behind him and challenged with a smirk, "Do you have any more accusations in store?"

"I will admit, your story hardly sounds outlandish, but that doesn't mean it's not poppycock. I especially refuse to accept it if you do not disclose the identity of the girl who ran out to the gardens."

"Cogsworth, she is embarrassed enough as it is," Lumière chastised lightly. "What transpired is now in the strictest confidence between me and her."

A silent battle of wills occurred as they stared each other down. Cogsworth then said casually, "Over the four years I have had the misfortune of working with you, I gained the insight that you only help a lady if you have certain intentions: that is, to romance them until they swoon. As of now, the only girl you have been trying to charm is Babette."

Lumière had to laugh. "Your 'insight' is rather misguided."

Cogsworth arched an eyebrow, and responded with all the sarcasm he could muster, "Oh, really? Please, Lumière, _do_ tell."

In an offended manner, Lumière said, "I do not have ulterior motives when I assist a woman. I am first and foremost a gentleman, and if it is ever within my power, I will come to a mademoiselle's aid, whether or not it results in an affair." Giving it some more thought, he annexed with a small smirk, "Although, that does seem to be a common outcome."

"Hmph, 'gentleman' indeed," Cogsworth harrumphed. He suddenly checked his pocket watch. "Bravo, Lumière. I no longer have the time to listen to your equivocating answers." He threatened with a finger, "But don't think you have successfully avoided the issue. Whatever you are trying to hide will be revealed eventually." He then swiftly spun on his heel and made his way toward his next appointment.

Lumière smiled triumphantly. Cogsworth was lying through his teeth; he _always_ forgot to interrogate Lumière again after he runs off to perform other errands. Lumière was simply not that important to the majordomo, which suited both of them perfectly well.

On the other hand, Cogsworth seemed to be awfully concerned with what Babette might or might not be doing with the maître d', and Lumière could not discern the reason why. In any case, Lumière would let Babette know what he had told Cogsworth and to be prepared to be questioned in the likelihood that Cogsworth goes to her for confirmation.

Going over the night's events in his mind, Lumière realized he discovered much about Babette that confirmed many of her actions. They had come to a profound understanding of each other. She was a mystery that was about to be solved. And yet, he did not want to stop. He only wanted to dig further, to find out her wishes, her ideals, her passions. His vow to himself to walk away when he finally completed the puzzle was starting to look empty. She was a startlingly interesting person with layers that seemed miles deep. He strongly felt it would be worth the effort to get to know her better.

Despite himself, he thought back to Cogsworth's warning a week before the masquerade. As much as Lumière might have expressed it, Babette does not show any sign of romantic interest in him, and he doubted she would in the future.

And still, one wanted what they could not have.

* * *

The next morning, Babette found herself moving more slowly, being more lost in thought than usual. She could not recall what happened exactly, but she knew Alphonse, who had often frequented her dreams as she slept, hadn't haunted her that night. After coming to terms with it, she finally felt she could begin to let go of Alphonse.

What the future vicomte had spoken of at the masquerade, though, had left Babette unnerved. She was still the gossip of the town, and their opinion of her hadn't improved. In fact, it seemed to have worsened. Was that the impression she had really left behind?

Also, how did the rumor that she was sent to a convent procure itself? It didn't make any sense. Were there aristocrats talking to her parents about it? How were they responding?

Becoming more flustered at the thought of it, Babette became firm on going over in her head the method of folding those ridiculous napkins.

As she was prepping her hair for a bun, a rap came from the door.

Shaken out of her reverie, she called hastily, " _Entrez_."

Seeing who it was, Babette imparted, "I am sorry, Mrs. Potts, I was a little distracted this morning. I only need a few more minutes."

"Oh, that's quite all right, dear," Mrs. Potts replied, waving away the unnecessary apology as she approached the maid. "I heard you had a rough night and I just wanted to check on you. How are you feeling?"

"Much better, merci," Babette replied, blushing timidly. "I appreciate the thought."

Mrs. Potts spoke to her through the vanity mirror, openly concerned. "Of course, dearie! After Lumière told me what happened, I couldn't believe that man's nerve!" She shook her head and tutted. "That's no way for a viscount to behave in public, besmirching a lady's reputation."

Babette fumbled with her bun and her hair fell around her shoulders. Mrs. Potts began to fix her hair for her. Babette tentatively asked, "How much did he tell you?"

"Oh, love, you need to know that he only told me because I asked where you were last night," the housekeeper reassured. "All I know is that horrible viscount is the reason you ran outside in tears."

"I have no qualms with you knowing," Babette explained quickly. "It is only that… I am very embarrassed of the entire ordeal. I wish I had not caused a scene."

"Please, don't worry your darling head on any of it. Your secret is safe and sound." Mrs. Potts set the opal hair comb in Babette's bun to finish. She placed a comforting hand on the maid's shoulder. "I want you to know that if ever you need to talk to someone, I am always here to listen. Don't feel that you have to bottle it up. It's not healthy for a girl your age to keep such burdens and worries like that."

Babette could only nod and attempt a smile. She put on her maid's cap and stood. Before leaving her chamber, she finally was able to say, "I am grateful for your offer, truly. I was merely…"

Mrs. Potts smiled, nodding keenly. "I know, dear, I know."

* * *

As Babette was stepping out of the kitchen when breakfast was finished, Lumière called to her as the doors shut behind him. "Babette, I need a quick word with you."

The maid glanced back nonchalantly but kept walking. "Coming from you, 'a quick word' is quite the paradox, but I believe I have a moment or two."

Not expecting such a response, Lumière could not help but grin at her remark. He stared after her, confused. "Then where are you going?"

She halted and said impatiently, "I have work to do! Surely, you can walk and talk? I am certain you have the capacity."

He rolled his eyes and muttered about her absurdity, but caught up with her before they resumed their path down the corridor. "I was only going to tell you that Cogsworth tried to get the truth about what happened last night, but he only received a story I concocted off the top of my head."

Babette furrowed her brow at him. "What did you tell him?" she questioned suspiciously.

"Honestly, _chérie_ , this is not my first time lying about where I've been," he informed exasperatedly. "In fact, I am an expert in improvisation."

"Good. Then what did you tell him?"

Trying to ignore Babette's somewhat patronizing tone, he replied, "Cogsworth suspected it was you that fled the ballroom and wondered why you were not in the kitchens last night." He shrugged. "I told him you had a dizzy spell and had to go rest."

Babette raised an eyebrow. "A dizzy spell?"

Lumière smiled at her expression. "Do you not approve?"

"No," Babette replied unconvincingly. "I only thought you would be a little more creative than that."

"Well, my apologies for not meeting your standards," he said with playful sarcasm. "My intention was to be believable. As my lie is not spectacular enough, pray tell, what would have been your preferred alibi?"

"If anything, you could have depicted me in a more elegant manner," Babette teased. "Besides, I am not nearly as delicate as you made me seem. I have never fainted in my life, not by any margin."

"I think we can suspect Cogsworth has less than an inkling of that minor detail," he remarked. "I only wanted to keep you informed in case he asks about what transpired. It tends to be more convincing if the stories are the same."

"Then I can assume that you have done this before, oui?" she inquired with a bit of coquettish interest. She was finding she was in the best mood since arriving at the château.

Lumière gave her his mischievous smirk. "In circumstances not dissimilar to this one."

"Such as…?"

He laughed as a kaleidoscope of examples popped into his mind's eye. "There are so many, I could hardly pick which one to mention."

"Hmm, liked to get into trouble, didn't we?" Babette quipped coyly.

"More than I dare say, although I was not always alone in my misadventures."

"You had a partner-in-crime," she guessed, musing. "That would definitely make things more interesting."

"Oui, every time," Lumière confirmed. "My previous master happens to be my best friend, and we got ourselves into all kinds of disasters. Most of them were my ideas, of course, but no matter how idiotic, he was there to fight or fall with me."

Babette pouted adorably, a touch of jealousy showing. "I wish I had one of those."

Lumière gave her a look. "You do not mean to suggest you got into some trouble of your own?"

Babette replied to his expression with a laugh. "Why is that surprising?"

He blinked at the question, glancing away as he said, "From what I have seen, you tend to avoid… how to say… getting your hands dirty." _However, that would explain many things_ , he wanted to add, but held his tongue.

An elfish smile played upon her lips. "Well, monsieur, it seems I still remain elusive to your understanding." She giggled impishly. "Non, I am afraid trouble and I are old acquaintances. Oh, the stories I could tell you… I am sure you would be shocked at what I have accomplished on my own."

"We shall have to see," came his response, captivated by her show of frolic. "Naturally, you must enthrall me with a few of them soon."

"We will trade," she suggested, her eyes bright. "Story for story."

"You need only say when."

"I will keep that in mind." With a departing flick of her feather duster, she strutted off to meet the other maids, giving him one last sly glance before rounding the corner.

Lumière shook his head in disbelief. She just _had_ to be toying with him now.

* * *

Taking a break from dusting, Babette met Angélique in a private cove in the library where the decorator often spent her time. The maid found her reading one of the many volumes of _L'Astrée_ , Angélique's most recent venture.

Babette had found she had much in common with her after multiple discussions of books they had read, which included fiction, romances, and philosophies, and many of their opinions were similar, especially on topics they felt strongly about. What had impressed Babette so much about Angélique was that she was incredibly self-taught. She sought knowledge and wanted to learn. The only reason Babette knew so much about literature and philosophy was because she had been forced to take lessons. She never knew she would be able to appreciate those lessons until she had met Angélique.

"You know, Babette," Angélique had stopped to say after a deep discussion of Ovid's views of women. "You are the first person I have been able to talk to about literature. I have never met another—especially a woman—who has even a vague idea of who Ovid was, or has actually read Shakespeare." She had smiled gratefully. "I guess I want you to know that I am really glad you are here."

Babette had not been able to call another girl a friend in so long, she had forgotten how wonderful it felt.

This time, Babette had a certain topic in mind that she had to discuss with her, but had never wished to bring up since the morning of the Spanish's arrival. She understood completely that Angélique was still hurt because of Lumière's crassness. However, after hearing what he had to say, Babette had to persuade Angélique to move past what had occurred.

"Bonjour, Angélique," the maid greeted with a smile.

The decorator glanced up from the novel she was thoroughly engrossed in. She grinned instantly. "Babette! A pleasure as always! Sit, s'il vous plaît."

Babette gracefully took a seat in the comfy armchair across from her and crossed her ankles out of habit.

Angélique noticed Babette's thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. "Is something on your mind?"

"Oui… in fact, there is," Babette replied, her mind racing to determine how to begin. "As much as you may want to ignore what I have to say, could you please… listen?"

Perplexed but intrigued, Angélique set her tome aside, and nodded. "Of course."

Babette intertwined her fingers. "Well… last night, in the middle of the ball… after the course of some events, I had a… revealing conversation about past relationships with Lumière."

As was expected, Angélique stiffened. She was about to berate her, but Babette immediately held up a hand. "Please, let me finish." Angélique crossed her arms sullenly and stared attentively back, her delicate pink lips in a thin line.

Babette pushed onward, "One of the things we discussed was his regrets with what happened with you."

Angélique then crossed her legs and turned her head away. She was no longer listening.

But Babette was determined. "Angélique, he sincerely wishes to make peace with you."

She rounded her gaze on the maid, her bright blue eyes like ice. "And you believed him?"

Knowing logic was the only way to win her over, Babette insisted, "Angélique, you know I look at him very critically. My view of him is not distorted. Last night, I saw a man who realizes he made a mistake and is suffering because you are still suffering."

"Really?" Angélique asked with severe doubt. "Then why are you telling me this and not he?"

"Because you are still upset with him, so you do not want to accept his apology," Babette replied plainly.

Angélique uncrossed her limbs and leaned forward, interrogating, "Babette, what even led to this… confession? What happened last night?"

Babette sighed. She recounted the events concisely from when she ran out of the ballroom to when Lumière left her chambers, leaving out any minor details that might hint even slightly at romance. Although, the memory of his hand locked in hers as he tenderly kissed it caused her heart to skip a beat. When she was finished, Angélique looked very stern with her.

"Babette, he is still trying to charm you! And you do not even see it!"

"He was doing no such thing, especially because I told him I am not in the least bit interested," Babette countered firmly. "He was simply doing what any proper gentleman would have done. But this is not about me. _Mon amie_ , I beg of you to give the circumstances a critical glance. Can you not see it is only hindering you to carry this anger much further?"

Angélique looked away in thought for a moment, before returning, "I wish you had not mentioned any of it. To be frank, Babette, this is none of your business."

Babette bit her lip. She was absolutely right.

As the decorator grabbed her book and was about to leave, Babette stopped her. "Angélique, wait."

She stood in front of her, staring blankly at the maid with her thick book clutched to her chest.

"I need you to know that… I was only trying to help you because I do not think you should keep this weight with you any longer than you should."

Angélique pursed her lips. "Are you really trying to help me? Or are you doing this for him?"

With Babette rendered unable to answer, she strode down the stairs and out of the library, the periwinkle blue skirt of her dress swishing out of sight, leaving Babette to ponder her accusations.

Angélique had a valid point, as much as Babette hated to admit it: Who was she really trying to help?


	12. On a Sunday

During the week that followed, Babette couldn't possibly determine how to reconcile with Angélique, especially since any passing in the hallway where a conversation could be struck, the decorator had her nose in a book. Any way of calling her out of her immersion was futile.

Even more taxing was the dilemma of informing Lumière of what she had tried to do. Babette was ashamed she had even attempted to persuade Angélique without his permission. What would be his response, particularly with the fact that her attempt most presumably made matters worse? Though the reason escaped her, she did not want to disappoint him.

She glanced at her nightstand where the flowers she had sneaked into her room had long since wilted. Even though it was getting colder, many flowers in the gardens were still thriving, being able to last the bitter climate of the late fall and winter. Before the soil became frozen, the gardeners were actually planting some flora that were able to bloom in the cold. Babette was severely tempted to make a bouquet for herself, but would that be considered stealing? It was the Queen's property, after all.

Finding no other way of distracting her restless mind, she resolved to sneak a few cuttings during the next day on Sunday, when the entire castle would be taking advantage of the day off, including the gardeners.

Babette left her chamber in the late morning, not having been able to resist sleeping in. The weather was fair for early November, and with her cloak, she was certainly warm enough. With a small knife used for cutting snagged threads on clothes, she found a pleasing amount of blooms such as hellebores, violas, peonies, lilacs, and daphnes. Passing by the vast section of garden strictly for roses, Babette could not resist grabbing one. In a particular bush, she saw a white rose that had lasted longer than its brethren. She began cutting the thorns near the head of the rose before attempting the stem.

"Babette? Is that you?"

The maid immediately looked for the source of the voice, and found none other than the Queen approaching her. She could not have straightened faster. "Your Majesty!" she greeted. Remembering her manners, she curtsied. She glanced at the bouquet by her feet, then back at the Queen. "I—" she stammered, not sure how to explain herself. "I could not help but—well…" The white rose she had attempted to clip leaned pitifully against its bush for support.

Queen Beatrice spotted the evidence at Babette's feet, and smiled. "I see you have taken the liberty of snipping away some of my garden."

Babette's cheeks that were reddened from the cold flushed even more. "I… never meant any offence, Your Highness."

"I know you didn't, dear," the Queen replied kindly. "However, I have never gone on my weekly walk through the grounds and encountered one of the château's staff taking such a liking to my collection."

The maid relaxed, seeing a reprimand was not upon her. She smiled back. "Oh, I truly admire your taste, Your Highness. I was making a bouquet for my room because I think your garden so beautiful."

"Well, it certainly is refreshing to hear I am not the only one who appreciates it so fondly."

Believing she needed to compensate for taking flowers without permission, Babette picked up the handful of flowers and offered them to the Queen. "If they please you, Madame, I will place these in your chamber immediately."

The Queen laughed, the skin around her brown eyes wrinkling. "As tempting as they are, that isn't necessary, dear. You may take these to your room if you so desire. I have no objection to it, and that goes for the future as well."

"I very much appreciate your generosity, Your Majesty." Babette curtsied again. "I will take my leave, and no longer disturb your stroll."

As she plucked the white rose from its bush on her way to depart, the Queen called, "Wait, my dear! Please, walk with me. I have some things to discuss with you."

Perplexed, Babette humbly obliged, and they resumed the stroll, the Queen's deep purple cloak trailing behind her.

"Your employment here has been almost a month now, hasn't it?" the Queen inquired.

Though the Queen's tone was casual, Babette continued to be instilled with fear and awe, especially by being in such close proximity to royalty. She simply replied, "Oui, Madame."

"And how have you been adjusting?"

"Very well, merci for your concern," Babette managed with a small smile.

"I hope the rest of the staff has been kind to you."

"Oh yes!" the maid freely admitted. "They are all very gracious, and exceptional people."

The Queen's eyes widened with delight. "Indeed? I am very glad of it. Collectively, they are quite a cast of characters… Cogsworth tells me you have taken to one in particular." A teasing smirk lighted her lips.

Babette blushed, but she had to smile in reply. "Whatever Cogsworth has told you is an exaggeration. Lumière and I are friends, and nothing more."

"Oh, of that, I am not surprised. Cogsworth is only doing his duty to your parents, and through your parents, the Crown. But, in this case, I believe that if any friendship should form, yours with Lumière is the most beneficial to the both of you, as you both are very similar in disposition and…" She pondered to think of the word. "… experience."

The blush that had just receded from her cheeks returned. Babette had the urge to hide her face, and somehow managed to stifle the urge to swear in God's name. "Oh _mon… bonté divine_ …"

The Queen chuckled and insisted, "My dear, you have nothing to be ashamed of. I think it a marvelous quality in a person to have that kind of confidence and self-assurance, and I think it even more interesting the variety of ways it can be expressed. Your way and Lumière's way are merely a little… unorthodox." She gave Babette a meaningful look. "As long as you practice restraint in the right circumstances. Oh, which reminds me: I have been in correspondence with your parents."

Babette glanced at her in surprise. "You have?"

"Yes, my dear. Naturally, they wish to know of your progress, and Cogsworth has been helping me keep them informed since your arrival. They are very pleased with what they have been told, and cannot wait to see the result of your stay at the Christmas Eve ball."

Babette knew she should be happy to anticipate seeing them again, but her feelings instead came out mixed. She turned away. "Neither can I," was the correct way she knew she should respond.

After a brief moment of silence, the Queen said, "Well, I am pleased that you are taking to life here so well. I am sure your parents will be proud to hear of it in my next letter." She inclined her head in dismissal, and Babette curtsied. "Enjoy the flowers."

"Merci, Your Majesty. Enjoy the rest of your walk." Babette went back down the garden path to the château to hurriedly put her bouquet in water, becoming lost in the thought of determining what her mixed feelings meant.

* * *

It was the first Sunday in over a month where the servants could finally be at their own leisure. Lumière usually took advantage of these days off to indulge in a young maid or two, but this time, after what had occurred with the Spanish lady-in-waiting, he did not want to take the chance; None of the maids would ever let him live it down if he called them by another's name.

He did have the urge to see what Babette was up to. Ever since their last chat the morning after the masquerade, she had been acting rather strangely. Several times, she had been startled at his approach, and prior to this, he could never properly sneak up on her without her noticing. She seemed distracted, and hesitant with her words, as if she was afraid of saying the wrong thing. It was definitely not normal behavior. Although, whenever he asked her about it, she laughed and waved it off, saying she was perfectly fine. If he had any knowledge of women, he could conclude she was most certainly _not_ fine.

Trusting this instinct, Lumière headed toward Babette's chamber on the floor above his, where all of the maids resided. Just as he rounded a corner, he collided with someone walking with purpose in the opposite direction. He caught the woman before he lost his balance, but upon realizing who it was, he immediately released her, taking two steps back. He inclined his head cautiously. "My apologies, Angélique. I did not hear you approach."

She smiled, but it wasn't genuine. "Perfect. Just the man I wanted to see."

Lumière glanced behind him, his brow furrowed in bewilderment. "Surely, you must have me confused for another."

Angélique crossed her arms. "No, Lumière. I actually have a bone to pick with you."

If he had erred with Angélique again, he certainly would have remembered. "What could I have possibly done? I have hardly seen you since the Spanish ambassadors' visit."

"And I prefer it that way." She analyzed him for a moment. "I think I can guess where you are heading."

Anxious to get away from her repelling stare, he stated blatantly, "Angélique, whatever you need to say, say it. I do not wish to spar words with you—"

"What game are you playing?" she demanded, on the verge of breaking her composure.

Even more baffled, he prodded, "Could you elaborate, perhaps?"

Steadily becoming more frustrated, she continued, "Whatever it is you told Babette, I do not want to be made a tragedy of. I am not a fool blubbering at the thought of what you did to me. What occurred between us is also not a means to get any girl into your shameless grasp. And I cannot believe how much of a _coward_ you are, sending Babette as courier for your hollow apologies!"

"What? Angélique!" Lumière stopped. "What did Babette say to you?"

"What else? That you really felt sorry for what happened, and wanted to make amends for _my_ sake. Please! You have no regard for my feelings. And you cannot even say these words to my face! Your pride leaves you without a backbone of any kind."

With all seriousness, he clearly said, "Angélique, I never told her to do anything of the sort. Oui, I did tell her those things, but with sincerity… I do not understand why you think me so heartless."

She shook away from an explanation. "Just stay away from Babette. She is the last one who needs to meddle with your foolishness."

"I have no intention of hurting her—I had no intention of hurting _you_ ," he insisted, determined for there to be harmony between them. "Every mademoiselle I have met understood that it was merely for fun, that there were no commitments. You were the first to not have that understanding."

"And I suppose that is my own fault?" she scuffed.

Lumière managed to resist rolling his eyes. "Of course not! It was only… Something that is rather… common knowledge evaded your keen perception. I did not realize until the last minute that you are just terribly old-fashioned, _chérie_." He had to smile as he said this.

She looked away for a moment, not able to deny any of his words. "You should have given up when I rebuffed you numerous times."

"And I know that now," Lumière replied gently. "I was very resolute where you were concerned."

"I call it 'stubborn'."

He laughed. "Call it what you will, but it was all because I hold you in high regard. Truly. You are one of the most respectable women I know."

"You should know better; Flattery does not get you anywhere with me," Angélique chastised, but a shadow of a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Relieved her animosity had melted somewhat, he grinned and said, "I was only being honest." Finally wanting to clear the air for good, he cleared his throat and added carefully, "I suppose… I should formally apologize for the insensitive manner I behaved towards you. I should have done it properly a long time ago. You had every right to be as upset as you were. With whatever shred of favor you could possibly have left for me, would you forgive me for my foolish mistakes?"

With thoughtful surprise, she paused as she looked him over. "I wonder: Where did this sudden bout of maturity come from?"

Lumière shrugged, showcasing his signature smirk. "Your guess is as good as mine."

It seemed for a while she would refuse, then Angélique smiled. "Fine. All is forgiven, only…"

"Yes?" he nudged.

She gave him the look of a chiding mother. "Do not trifle with a mademoiselle's heart unless she is willing to let you play with it. And…" She glanced down the corridor before murmuring intently, "… that includes Babette."

"I did not realize you cared for her so," he had to comment.

"When literacy is in such short supply in this line of work, I will appreciate intelligent, coherent thoughts coming from anyone." Her countenance softened. "Besides, she's darling."

Lumière smiled. "I couldn't agree more." He then placed his hand over his heart. "You have my word," he replied.

Angélique had a question on the tip of her tongue but hesitated, until she released it anyway. "Be honest, Lumière: What are your feelings for her?"

He swiftly replied, "I find I admire her more and more each day." The decorator raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not satisfied. "Whatever response you are looking for, I shall not reveal it, especially to you," he continued, smirking at her expression. "I can't have you tattling to our dear mademoiselle about how much I may adore her as a friend."

She snorted, crossing her arms. "Lumière, you cannot be friends with any moderately attractive girl you meet, not unless you have already had an affair with her."

"Au contraire, _mon ange_ ," he corrected proudly, using his affectionate nickname for her simply to irritate her. "Our friendship is already well established, and not once have any romantic sentiments been exchanged. You should be as informed, since I am sure I am a common subject between the two of you."

Angélique rolled her eyes at his ego. She resumed sternly, "It is only a matter of time before you find you cannot restrain yourself around her any longer."

He stood straighter. "I have marvelous self-control," Lumière defended. "You should be more concerned with Babette in that regard. If either of us becomes so prone to our feelings that we must express them, _she_ would be the first to show it." And he wholeheartedly believed that.

"Babette is incredibly strong-willed for her age," the decorator replied factually. "And if I knew you at all, Lumière, I know that you cannot withhold how you truly feel for long, no matter what."

"Then you still have much to learn, _chérie_ ," he countered with a smirk. "You admitted with your eyes only moments ago…" He boldly leaned in to murmur, "I am full of surprises." The maître d' began to take his leave as he called behind him, "I will prove you wrong when she falls at my feet for my affections. It should not be long now."

Angélique mirrored his confident grin, accepting the challenge. "I anticipate the day when I will yet again get to say, 'I told you so'."

She shook her head as he finally vanished around the corner. Lumière was inclined to under-exaggerate his true feelings; as far as men went, that remained to be a trait even Lumière could not have avoided to inherit.

Somehow, he had managed to convince himself otherwise, and perhaps he had not even realized it yet, but Angélique could tell: He was in love with the maid.

* * *

Her parents were coming on Christmas Eve.

Granted, that was more than a month away, but based off of how fast October had flown by, why would November and December go by any slower? It would feel like less than a fortnight, and the thought was, on one hand, terrifying.

Babette was to return to her former life once her parents came to the ball, of that she was certain, for why would they leave her employed as a maid for any longer when she was already, to put it mildly, a late-bloomer? She was to return to all of the stiff smiles and tight dresses that she despised so. She was to bask in the harshness of every comment directed at her that was sure to be underlined with the knowledge of Babette's numerous flirtatious affairs. She could escape none of this. That was to be her future. The only part of it she could possibly amend was her reputation, which was broken beyond what she could have ever imagined. The only way to clean her name was to show her society how much she had matured, which would take more than a few parties and dinners. It would take marrying a man of honor and rank. She could show them she could keep to one man. And that man would marry her willingly and without regrets.

 _Marriage_. The thought of it made Babette's stomach churn. She was not ready for such a commitment. She doubted her abilities to stay true to one person, thing, place, anything. She reveled in her freedom more than whatever else the world had provided. She was not ready to give it up. She did not expect her parents to rush her in this. After only just rehabilitating herself, they would recognize she needed time to grow accustomed to life as a noble again, and to accept her duty to her family instead of avoiding it.

On the other hand, she would be home by the end of the year. Now that Babette and her mother had come to an understanding, they would be able to reform their bond that had been torn for almost five years. She of course missed her father, her friend and confidante, and all the ways he made her smile and laugh even in her deepest glooms. Bernadette, Henri, and the rest of their staff were also in her thoughts. She had a wonderful family and home to anticipate seeing again.

And yet…

In the maids' corridor, Babette looked up from the full vase of flowers in her hands at the noise and froze.

As Lumière turned from Babette's chamber door, he caught sight of her and began to approach with a devilish grin on his features. This might be the only opportunity he would ever have to make her sweat. "Ah, there she is!"

"Lumière," Babette greeted, shifting uncomfortably at his expression. He knew something. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I have just received some… news, of a kind," he explained leisurely, clasping his hands behind him. "Quite enthralling, actually, for who else was the messenger but Angélique."

As he so desired, Babette's cheeks flushed. Looking slightly ashamed, she moved her gaze to the bouquet in her fair hands.

"If I may chance a guess," the maid said, her voice surprisingly steady for being clearly embarrassed, "could what you heard have anything to do with me?"

"Why, of course, _ma chère_ ," Lumière replied smoothly. "What other kind of information could keep me so enthralled?"

"And?" Babette prodded, daring to stare back into his grey eyes reveling in her predicament. "What did Angélique tell you?"

He chuckled at the question. "Well, her introduction was accusatory at first, which was very characteristic of her, but then your euphonious name was said, and I naturally became more engaged to her demands. She said…" He feigned being in thought. "What were her words… that I sent you 'as courier for my hollow apologies'."

Babette retracted her stare again. _He knows_.

"I had to admit to her that I hadn't the faintest idea of what she was speaking of," Lumière continued, awaiting the appropriate response from the maid. "I was hoping, perhaps, that you could provide a proper explanation to her claim." He gazed at her expectantly. "Are my hopes in vain?"

She exhaled agitatedly. "Fine, _d'accord_ , I confess! I… stuck my nose where I shouldn't have and tried to help Angélique make amends with you. I am sorry I had any hand in affairs that were not my own, _especially_ yours," she added with a sharp glare. "Now, if you have ceased torturing me—"

Before Babette could move past him, the maître d' blocked her path. With his act satisfied, his tone was lighthearted as he placed his hands her tense arms. "Babette, _chérie_ , calm yourself! I was only teasing."

"You are a cruel and shameful tease," she lashed.

It was obvious Lumière still thought the situation delightfully funny. He was completely impenitent as he replied, "I know. I am afraid I cannot help myself. The opportunity was too ripe to resist taking it."

"Only wait until I am presented with the same opportunity," Babette threatened, her sparkling blue stare this time unwavering. "It will be as if that infamous smirk of yours had never crossed your mouth."

Lumière felt his blood grow hot at how startlingly attractive Babette became in that instant. He knew she wasn't lying either. At that moment, he would have given anything to feel those enticing lips of hers absorb his. With all possible restraint he had, he shoved his libido aside.

He slid his palms soothingly over hers that still gripped the glass vase. When Babette didn't immediately pull away, he reassured, "I am not here to reprove you. Quite the contrary. It was a rather pleasant surprise to hear you made such a bold effort on my behalf."

"An effort I did not think much through," she professed, her countenance giving way to her guilt. His hands warmed her chilled fingers. "I only made matters worse."

"Perhaps at first, but… all is now reconciled between us," he said, smiling as though he couldn't believe it himself.

Babette appeared amazed but was soon dubious. "Are you sure?"

Lumière laughed. "Of course I'm sure! There could be no confusion; I directly asked if I was forgiven and she assuredly consented." He shook his head at her. "'Am I sure'… I have experienced enough instances where I have _not_ been forgiven to know the difference."

She giggled, despite herself. "Of that, I have no doubt." Then she smiled genuinely. "I can imagine how much of a relief it must be."

"Impressively so," he agreed, smiling back. A brief and intimate moment of silence pervaded between them, before Lumière was the first to glance away to the flowers they were both holding as if he had just noticed them. "And whom might these be for?"

"Pour moi," Babette concisely replied, lifting her chin proudly. She pulled away from his touch, her hands suddenly feeling exposed, to walk to her chamber door. "I picked them myself."

" _Ma chère_ , you have a marvelous eye," he admired. To prevent her from struggling, he opened the door for her. "Are they from the gardens?"

"Oui."

"And Her Majesty allowed you to take her precious flowers?"

Babette set the vase on her nightstand, smirking as she responded, "That is actually an interesting tale…"

Seeing her sly smile, Lumière stared at her wide-eyed. "You _stole_ from the Queen's gardens?"

"Well, I was. Then I was caught," she admitted, shrugging nonchalantly.

"And she allowed you to keep them anyway."

Babette gestured to the bouquet. "Apparently so."

Lumière shook her head at her, baffled. "I could only believe _you_ to be so lucky. I am sure you charmed your way out of a punishment."

She lifted an eyebrow. "And you would not have done the same?" Babette bantered. As Lumière rolled his eyes, she added, "Truthfully, I was about to accept any punishment she deemed worthy, but she said she did not mind." She shrugged again with a coy smirk appearing on her lips once more. "Besides, I have been in worse situations."

"Ah, I have been eager to hear of your various escapades." He closed the door behind him. "You have no other thefts planned for the day, do you?"

"I'm afraid not," Babette pouted as though disappointed. She reclined on the end of her bed. "I am at your disposal."

With her positioned on a bed and those lush lips of hers that were turned into a beguiling smile saying such a phrase, Lumière couldn't help but think irritably, Now _who is the cruel and shameful tease?_ But he still maintained his wits about him well and gave nothing away as he took a seat beside her, matching her smirk in every way. "Where would you like to begin?"

"With you." She playfully flicked Lumière's cravat with her index finger. "I would much rather have you start us off."

Lumière fervently wished he could revel in the coquettish mood Babette was in, but he knew she must be doing it on purpose, waiting to see if he reacts. He discreetly gripped his legs to keep his hands from possibly wandering. "But I feel you must be the one. As the golden rule states, it is 'ladies first'."

"Oh, so _now_ you decide to be a gentleman!" Babette teased, leaning against the bed post as she tucked her legs underneath her. "Very well. It is not as if I could argue with 'the golden rule'."

He got comfortable by the bed post opposite of her. "Believe me when I say it is bad luck to disregard it."

"Really? One can hope there will be a story to match your statement."

"After you."

"Hmm," she mused, mentally sifting through her experiences. "What would impress a particular monsieur with infamy as broad as his ego?" Lumière raised an amused eyebrow as she thought aloud. He smiled as her eyes lit up at a certain memory. "Oh!" she exclaimed, grinning mischievously. "You are in for a treat, monsieur…"


	13. Love's Labour's Lost

On that Sunday afternoon, Babette and Lumière had been amazed to realize the night had crept up on them as they exchanged and laughed at each other's amorous antics, and they were not even close to the end of their tales. Both had years of men and women they had chased and wooed with varying successes and few failures, along with those who had retaliated against them with humorous consequences. Lumière left Babette's room with the promise from her that the conversation was not over, and Babette had every intention of keeping it.

They managed to find plenty of time to meet between their chores and simply talk. Babette was surprised at how much at ease she felt telling Lumière of stories that would make her mother and even her father blush. She knew she should be ashamed of her actions, but what she knew and how she felt were at ends; her experiences were her own, had shaped her to who she was, and she did not regret a single moment.

Anyhow, Lumière had no room to judge as he was just as notorious if not more so. Many of his accounts included his friend and former master, Nicolas, who would not always voluntarily go along with Lumière's schemes, but would have a very hard time trying not to show how much he enjoyed them, despite any resistance he might put up. They had often snuck from a dinner, play, and ball for the persistent call of beautiful women and fine wine, one of the times being when they left during the opera Nicolas' family had attended to head across Paris into the infamous nightclub, _Le Fleur Noir_.

"Not that I do not admire a good aria every now and again, but at the time, the theatre felt hot and irritable," Lumière relived as they sat on opposite ends of a chaise in a sitting room. "It was becoming tedious to sit still, and I knew _exactly_ the place to unwind. Once I suggested it to Nicolas, who I knew felt the same, he found it difficult to refuse my proposal and aptly agreed to join me. Nicolas and I sat in the back of the box and waited until his mother had become engrossed in the play and his father had dosed off, which thankfully was only halfway into the second scene. We slipped out discreetly without arousing either of them. After we bribed our coachman to borrow the horses, and promised to return them before the opera's final curtain…" Lumière rolled his eyes at the memory, showing without words the coachman had made an unnecessary effort. "… we swiftly rode to the edge of town."

"I presume you had been to _Le Fleur Noir_ before?" Babette had to ask, a small smirk lifting the corner of her mouth. Babette found she was never not engaged to his words; he was an avid storyteller.

He mirrored her smile. "Naturally, mademoiselle. I had escaped there as many times as I could whenever we traveled to Paris, but it still was not as much as I wished to. As you know, the distance from La Clayette to Paris is not ideal for frequent travel, which is why I earnestly wanted to take advantage of our visit at the time.

"Even though it is off the beaten path, we found it without trouble." Grinning widely, he continued, "Oh it was a breath of fresh air right as we walked through the door! As usual, the place was packed with messieurs of all kinds, but with Nicolas as a companion, they always had a table ready for us."

"How?"

Lumière rubbed his fingertips together. "Why, for money of course! Nicolas looked the part of a monsieur of high rank, and with that comes the assumption that he will tip very well. Because of this, the proprietor made sure we were well taken care of. And the mesdames were always attentive," he added with relish. "There was about a dozen or so at the time, and they would take turns serving and performing their acts, each one having their own unique appeal.

"That night," he recounted, his tone changing as he approached the climax of his tale, "there was one particular act that caught my attention: an auburn-haired girl I had never seen during my previous visits. She looked very young, but the manner in which she moved across the stage made her seem in her prime. She was a marvel! She had a grace that no other girl possessed in the spotlight. Looking over at Nicolas, I knew in an instant he was smitten. I had never seen him stare at a lady with such wonder. After her performance was over, he turned to me with stars in his eyes and said, 'We must invite her to our table!' Before I could offer a reply, he called over the nearest server and asked for her to fetch the mademoiselle who had just left the stage."

"Were you not as taken with her as your friend?" Babette asked, noting how exasperated he seemed retelling it.

"I admired her a great deal," he admitted. "She was a rare kind of beauty, one I haven't come across before or since. But I had learned to become careful around showgirls. Oui, they knew how to feel and be felt, but they also knew how to maneuver around a man's heart and mind. They had to keep themselves protected as much as the messieurs." He shook his head. "Nicolas never had the opportunity to learn this lesson before that, and had his heart in his hands ready to give as she approached our table. I had no time to warn him of what he was really doing, for he was already lost in a fantasy. There was nothing else for me to do except to wait for him to learn the lesson on his own."

"How did she seem?"

He smiled. "Oh she was a charming girl! She had an innocent air about her, but her replies could be quick without being cruel. Cerise, I believe her name was. Nicolas was instantly under her spell. He had pulled her on his lap within five minutes and they were kissing in under ten."

"Your poor friend," Babette sympathized with a smile.

Lumière chuckled. "Do not pity him yet! Between the two of us, he was having more fun. If anyone, pity me! With no pretty mademoiselle on my lap, I had to watch the whole ordeal and worry about how his heart was going to be in shatters before we returned to the opera."

"Oh _pauvre chéri_ ," she taunted, sarcasm seeping into her words. "Having human compassion can be such a burden!"

"What a pleasant life you must lead, having no compassion of your own," he matched with that irresistible grin of his.

Babette's concise reply was a pillow slap to his face. He snatched the pillow from her grip before it could hit its mark and tucked it under his arm, giving her a disapproving wag of his finger. "That was not a very ladylike response, mademoiselle."

She crossed her arms, a smirk creeping upon her lips as she retorted, "I will be ladylike once you are gentlemanly, monsieur. But what of _ton ami_? Was he at least put down gently?"

Lumière considered her for a moment, her continued interest in his story pleasing him more than he wanted to express, before resuming with the same vigor. "I would not know. She took him away to someplace private, leaving me to count the minutes. As much I wanted to distract myself with a mademoiselle of my own, I could not do it in good conscience. After we had been in the club for over an hour and time was running short, I beckoned one of the girls to seek him out for me, hoping he would not be in a worse state than I imagined. Knowing him, he would propose to the girl before having to leave her. A mere 'liaison' was hardly in his vocabulary. If Nicolas ever loves, it is with his whole being."

"That is… very admirable," Babette found herself saying.

"But very dangerous," he replied, and she could not argue. "When he finally emerged, he threw a handful of francs on the table that I'm positive was not counted and left without saying a word. I had to jog to catch up with him outside. He was completely unresponsive, so I decided not to pester him any further. He did a marvelous impression of a statue on the ride back to the opera house, and I could hardly keep from asking questions, burning with curiosity as I was. Nicolas would not be ready to tell me anything about that night until we returned home."

"He was heartbroken, wasn't he?" Babette felt for his friend, and Lumière understood.

"I had not seen him shed tears since he broke his arm riding his horse at age ten," he confirmed. "I did what I could to soften the blow he had suffered, but it took years before he finally let the thought of her go. He became much more protective of his heart after that, you can imagine."

Babette became pensive. She soon looked up again and asked tentatively, "Do you know the feeling?"

What she saw in his grey eyes surprised her. "How could I not? It is part of the profession we practice, _chérie_."

She gave a wry smile. "I suppose it is." Then she worriedly added, "I hope I did not sound impertinent, asking such a question."

He smiled back. "Of course not, _ma chère_. My wound is not as fresh as yours. I have had plenty of time to learn from it. What we think is love at first turns out to be much less in hindsight."

"With you, has that always been the case?"

He nodded. "Once a mademoiselle breaks my heart and I find I cannot recover, then I will know it is love."

"I hope, in regards to your heart, it does not come to that." She was smiling, but meant what she said sincerely.

Mirroring her, he answered, "And I hope the same for you, whoever the unfortunate monsieur turns out to be."

Babette grabbed the other pillow from behind her and slapped him on the arm with it, laughter permeating between them as they began another round of tit-for-tat.

* * *

After the two had parted, having respective work they must attend to, Babette found Angélique with her arms crossed and a knowing expression on her features expecting her from behind a turn in the hall.

"Oh, do not look at me like that," Babette berated, recognizing exactly what her friend was thinking.

During the day after Angélique and Lumière had finally reconciled, Babette and the decorator had straightened out their misunderstandings and murmured their apologies after having mutually been in search of the other.

"I _was_ stubborn," Angélique had acquitted. "You were absolutely right in saying I was letting past frustrations cloud my judgment."

"But I had no room to interfere," Babette had countered, trying be the scapegoat instead. "It would all have healed itself in due time. My involvement only aggravated the whole ordeal."

"No, you made us confront the problem, which was _exactly_ what we needed to do. Because of you, everything is as it should be."

Babette had been about to retort, but Angélique had shushed her. "And that is all I will hear on the subject. We…" She had sighed to let the maid take any blame. "… both made some faults, but it ended up working for a good, and for that, I am grateful to you." And for the first time, Angélique had embraced Babette, which had taken the maid by surprise, but she had returned it with a grin. Somehow, they had become closer from the argument, and Babette, again, was admiring how much having a female friend made her feel secure, like she had someone watching her steps for her so she did not tumble and get seriously injured.

It was hardly a shock to Babette that Angélique caught her coming out of a closed room with the man both knew had a strong inclination for the maid. It had been a couple weeks after all. The only person who could possibly be more observant than Angélique was Cogsworth, who had much more to observe than where different servants vanish to after their work was finished.

Angélique became contemplative as she followed the maid to her destination. "I believe I saw you leave your cleaning about… two? So that would mean you were with him for... over an hour?" She glanced at a nearby grandfather clock for reference. "No, for almost _two_ hours!"

"How would you like me to defend myself?" Babette asked a bit irritably.

"Let me ask you a question," Angélique said rationally. "What do you think will come from all of these… discussions you have with Lumière?"

"Why would you think I expect anything? We only talk, and nothing more."

"Oh, I am sure!" Angélique replied ambiguously, making Babette wonder whether she really believed her or not. "But where are you expecting this to lead? Did you ever think that Lumière might believe something more will come out of your time together?"

Babette did not have an answer to that. Lumière never insinuated any kind of expectations when they were together, but what he allowed to show did not account for what he was thinking. Truthfully, she had not considered it.

She shook the thoughts from her head. She did not _want_ to consider it. "If it is all the same to you, _mon amie_ , I would rather we not discuss it any further."

Angélique raised an eyebrow, a smile growing on her mouth. "Strange, how suddenly _you_ are the one who wants to avoid Lumière as a subject, when I was doing the same only a fortnight ago." Babette had to smile too. How the tides had turned! "Do you still only talk about all of your previous 'rendezvous'?" she used the word teasingly.

Babette conceded to answer. "Oui, we never stray far from them."

"How can you still have things to talk about?"

"It's a topic that hardly ever gets old," the maid replied with a smirk.

Angélique narrowed her eyes with playful suspicion. "How is it that Lumière has heard tale after tale from you, and I have not heard one?"

Babette glanced over at the decorator. "You do not want to hear about them, _ma chère_ , I promise you."

"But I am sincerely curious! What, are you embarrassed to speak about them to me?"

"I am sure you will not look at me the same way," Babette confided. "It is hard for someone who does not dabble in romance often enough to understand."

"So of course Lumière would understand." After the maid breathed an exasperated sigh, Angélique added factually, "I am not a recluse, Babette; I have had my share of messieurs knocking on my door. I did not turn them _all_ away, especially when I was young and carefree. My priorities have merely changed since then. I am sure I will be able to clearly comprehend everything you say, and I will certainly listen without judgment. Besides," she said, grinning at her friend, "what is a romance without a little scandal?"

Babette laughed with her. "Very well," she granted. "Maybe when the day is done I will amuse you with one, but now we must part, _mon amie_. The foyer calls."

"Adieu, _chérie_!" Angélique imparted.

* * *

The maids attended the foyer and its surrounding corridors that overlooked it. On the third floor balcony, the marble banisters and pillars were going through their bi-weekly polish from Babette and a few others.

Babette's mind drifted as she worked, as usual. She found herself thinking of Lumière's story. She had no idea who this Nicolas was that Lumière so esteemed, but she had the strange desire to meet him. A man who could love so instantly and fully was something Babette could only admire. It was incredibly endearing to her. She was so far past that point of naïveté that she could never love so willingly again, but she remembered when she had the capacity to feel passion for someone after such a short amount of time. _When will those with that special ability be lucky in finding a love that lasts?_ she wondered.

A brief mention of her name called her from her reverie. She glanced down the hall, where Michelle and Veronique were chatting and hardly polishing.

Then Veronique suddenly hushed her friend and motioned at Babette, who Michelle glanced at over her shoulder. She spun back around once realizing that Babette's eyes were on them.

Babette slowly straightened from her position cleaning the rail, refusing to take her eyes from the conspiring couple. If they were going to talk about her, she decided she wanted to hear it firsthand.

"Is there something you wish to say?" she called out.

"Non, Babette," Veronique replied innocently.

Michelle faced Babette, her eyes slightly narrowed. "Oui, actually, there is." Veronique only seemed to have been the listener in this conversation while Michelle was the gossiper. Babette figured as much.

"Then by all means, Michelle, s'il vous plaît, let me hear," Babette demanded with a false sweetness, crossing her arms.

Michelle began to approach Babette as she said, "I was merely pointing out to Veronique of how little we have seen of our favorite monsieur." She stopped right in front of Babette, staring her in the eye. "Since you arrived, his visits have amounted to about… hmm, _none_."

Babette raised an eyebrow. She knew very well who Michelle was referring too, but chose to play dumb, if just to get on Michelle's nerves. "Michelle, I hope you do not expect me to read your mind. You must specify this monsieur you speak of."

Michelle rolled her eyes. "Lumière!" She referred to the walls and ceiling around them. "From the moment you walked into our midst, he has hardly given the rest of us a single glance."

"Why propose to blame me for his actions? I have no control over his change of habit."

Michelle shook her head, laughing bemusedly. "Why do you pretend to be ignorant? _You_ can be the only reason he has chosen to ignore me and every other girl who works in this _maudit_ château."

"I am not feigning ignorance," Babette replied indignantly. She wasn't _that_ time anyway.

"Then tell me," Michelle said, testing Babette's honesty, "where has Lumière been running off to all this time and with whom?"

Babette remained silent. This could not be true. She could not be the only one keeping Lumière's attention. She was sure of it. He hated being too idle. What else could he do with his time between meals?

"Hmm." Michelle smirked triumphantly. "That was precisely our thoughts." Her smirk faded as she asked, "What have you done to keep him coming back to you? What makes you so special?"

Babette began to fume. "I have done nothing to provoke him. We are friends and that is all," she defended. How many times was she going to have this conversation? Did no one believe her?

Michelle snorted. " _Friends?_ I have seen you sneak off with him almost every day for the past fortnight, and you mean to tell me that you have done 'nothing'?" She looked at her friend. "Veronique, can you believe her?"

The little blonde finally approached them. "Michelle, enough's enough." She glanced at Babette warily. "I do not think she is lying."

"I'm _not_ ," Babette emphasized. "As hard as it might be to grasp, we only talk."

Michelle was mute for a moment, analyzing her. "Then you need to understand, since you have been here for so little a time: Lumière is the only bit of romance we can hope to have. Sure, there are other messieurs working here, but they are hardly a comparison to how Lumière is able to make us feel. I don't know about you, but the rest of us have needs that only a man like Lumière can quench, even if it is only exchanging coy words and some kisses." She gestured to Babette. "You're a servant! You know what it's like to be stuck in one household and have no desirable men around!"

Babette pursed her lips. _No_ , she thought. _I cannot even imagine_.

To think, being a servant, you could hardly leave the house you serve. It wasn't like aristocracy where you go to a variety of dinners and parties and end up meeting everyone within your vicinity and some others beyond it. There were never opportunities like that for a servant. The staff of the house you work for was all you had.

 _Dieu_ , Babette would go insane.

She swallowed. "What would you have me do?"

Michelle exchanged looks with Veronique, rather surprised at the question. Michelle leaned against the railing. "You say you have not done _anything_? No encouragement of any kind?"

"Oui, and most likely not for the last time," Babette added bitterly.

Veronique looked thoughtful, but hesitant. "Maybe… you need to."

Babette stared at both maids. "Pardon?"

"Maybe he will move on once you finally…" The blonde shrugged. "… give in."

"What? No!" Babette immediately rejected. After all that she had to do to prevent Lumière and herself from becoming intimate with each other, she would not open that Pandora's box for anyone else's benefit. She liked the relationship they had, and the last thing she wanted was to complicate it. Besides, the only person she flirted for was herself, on her own terms. "I will not lose my dignity on the chance that he might return his affections to the rest of you."

She sighed, cursing her empathy for these maids. "But… I can at least bring up the subject to him. I was not aware I was keeping him so preoccupied." How was she? Was Lumière still pursuing her in his own subtle way?

She swept the thought aside. Even if he was, as long as he continued to behave and treat her in the same manner as he was now, he was completely harmless. If he could restrain himself for this long, and _Dieu_ knew how she might have tempted him unintentionally, there was nothing to fear from him.

Michelle and Veronique exchanged glances, appearing satisfied. " _D'accord_ ," Michelle agreed. "That would… be appreciated."

"But do _not_ tell another soul," Babette warned firmly with a finger. "My name will not penetrate any more gossip than it already has."

The conspiring pair shrank a bit with guilt. "We promise," they murmured. After retreating to their cleaning, none of them spoke another word to each other.


	14. Don Juan Emerges

A few days had passed and Babette still had not brought up what Michelle and Veronique had asked of her to Lumière. She was waiting for a window of opportunity where, during their talks, it could flow into the unpleasant topic. She most definitely did not anticipate bringing it up, but she had promised. Being raised a noble, she was born and bred with a sense of honor. She had to keep it.

Michelle worked in the kitchens most days, considering she would sometimes skip meals, not that she was the only one. During one lunch preparation, Michelle finally caught Babette's eye and mouthed, "Have you told him yet?" Babette's gaze never wavered as she shook her head. Michelle rolled her eyes dramatically before pouting her lips with impatience. As she spun away, Babette sighed, feeling her conscience churn with remorse. She then saw Lumière looking at her from the corner of her eye. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, inclining his head in Michelle's direction. Babette widened her eyes in feigned confusion, shrugging. He instantly appeared skeptical, but waved his hand dismissively, getting back to work.

Babette hoped that meant he had lost curiosity, but she was still aware that she could hardly tell him a lie without him noticing something amiss. She hated that about him, yet she could only respect him for being so perceptive. After all, he was the first man outside of her father that couldn't be fooled by her. Yet, it was strange he hadn't caught on to her little backstory about being the maid instead of the noble. Maybe because she was telling the truth, but from a different perspective…

She continued to procrastinate, which caused Michelle to aim some malevolent glares in her direction. The ridiculous promise hardly left her thoughts. Babette wished she could tell the other maids to get on with their lives without having Lumière to entertain them, as he obviously had a change in priorities. As selfish as it seemed, she wanted to keep Lumière to herself.

Directly after that thought occurred to her, Babette became determined to mention the maids' request as soon as possible.

* * *

After laughing heartily, Lumière asked in wonder, "Did he truly say that to you?"

As they sat on a chaise longue by the window in the servants' drawing room, Babette was managing to retell between fits of giggles the account of her time with the desperate son of a baron during a large prestigious party. "It is in absolute verbatim, I can assure you! I felt I could not answer him with decency or I would begin to laugh at him! After all, he was convinced that I wanted to bear his children. So—" She had to giggle again, and was finding it difficult to stifle them for long. "So I reacted to his assumption in the only other way I could think of." Babette stiffened her back and clutched at her breast in an offended manner, repeating, "'Monsieur, to think that is all you believe the stables are for! What would your poor father say when he hears his carriage was not good enough for our lovemaking?' Oh, he snapped at the bait without any doubts, thinking it such a wonderful idea.

"The entire time as we hurried to his over-adorned carriage with his hand firmly fastened to my waist, I was thinking how in _le nom de Dieu_ I was going to make a clean escape. Seeing the carriage, the coachman was not there, as I had been hoping, but the horses were still attached." Babette smiled, her blue eyes sparkling like gems. "I began to work out a plan. He opened the door, his hand never leaving me until I stepped inside. I instantly shut the curtain on the other door's window and checked for a lock, or what I had in mind wouldn't work as well.

"He slipped in next to me as he closed the door. Teasing him for a kiss, I closed its curtain so it was complete darkness and infinitely more cozy. While I was keeping him busy," she continued, tapping her ruby lips, "I reached behind him to turn the lock, but it wasn't as silent as I had anticipated. I had to… moan a bit and seem more earnest to cover the click of it, and, based on his response, this must have satisfied him. Then I gently pulled away while taking his wandering hands from my person before I bid him to close his eyes." Rolling her eyes, she said, "Of course, he asked why. I said, 'It will enhance the senses, _ma chère_ , and make my surprise for you even more… pleasing.' With my eyes already attuned to the dark, I watched him comply before backing out of the coach. By some miracle or maybe by shameful craftsmanship, the coach did not sway when I left it and quietly shut the door. As quickly as I could, I ran up to the horses and slapped each of them onward a few times for good measure. They both went right into a gallop and vanished down the road into the woods!" She broke into laughter again. "It may only be my imagination, but I am certain the look on his face is one in the same. He probably traveled a good mile or so before he was able to stop the carriage. That is, if he didn't simply jump out of it!"

"And while all of this occurs, there were still no witnesses?" Lumière asked dubiously as he picked up his wine glass from the side table, though he still grinned at the humor of her tale. "Didn't he find his way back to the gathering?"

Babette shrugged, fingering her own glass. "I would not know that. I wandered back into the party as if I had just been out for a brief stroll, and I saw no one outside at the time. Then we left the manor shortly afterwards." She sipped her wine, dispelling the thought with a wave of her hand. "He lived in another province, so he was no longer any concern of mine, _Dieu merci_."

Lumière took the half empty bottle of red wine and offered it to Babette, who held out her glass in consent. As he poured into both of their glasses, he voiced, "I could never grasp why the masses fall for the 'close your eyes' maneuver. When I was younger, I never dared to attempt it, believing no one living could possibly be so gullible! Now I find myself pulling the wool over the eyes of any of the maids here." He laughed as he added, "And they take no offence! They believe it is all part of the game! I cannot fathom it." He shook his head as he drank.

Babette traced the rim of her glass with her finger, biting her bottom lip. It was a good a time as any to bring up what she had dreaded hinting at. "Speaking of the maids… have you been to see any of them recently?"

He glanced over at her, the hint of a smirk on his mouth indiscernible in intent. "And what if I have?"

"I happen to know that, in truth, you haven't."

His eyebrows lifting, he chuckled. "What, do they mourn over how they miss me?"

Noticing she had a slight upper hand in the conversation, Babette replied, "Why would they? You cannot have been spending all of your extra time with little me. That would give way to the assumption that you have preferences."

Lumière fully faced the maid, their eyes now locked in a battle of wills, both subliminally daring the other to say what they really thought. "Is it particularly wrong to have a preference?"

"In this profession we practice, _chéri_ ," she mimicked, "having one preference can cause rather envious consequences, especially when you have already dedicated your services to numerous clients."

"Has a jealous flock of hens come pecking at your ankles, Babette?" he shamelessly teased.

"You should probably attend to them. They were crying for their cock's return."

He took a deep breath through his nose as he gradually straightened. He asked boldly, "And what of you? Am I not the cock to your hen?"

Her eyes became steely as she narrowed them. "I vowed and you agreed that you most certainly are not."

Babette was not taken at all with his tone, but she especially did not like the way his smirk broadened. "Perhaps not in the way that you think." He rose from his seat, taking the bottle and his glass with him. As he stood before Babette, he held out his empty hand for her glass, matching Babette's cold stare with a keen, overconfident one. It was clear to both of them that the upper hand no longer belonged to her. She slowly handed the glass to him, her eyes saying more than she could put into words, which had failed her.

While Lumière casually headed for the door, he turned to say, "Since you mentioned it, I must confess that my company has lacked in variety as of late. We will have to postpone our intimate discussions to a much later date, it pains me to say, for I have suddenly become otherwise… engaged. Merci for relaying to me how much my services are needed elsewhere." He blew her a kiss. "Adieu, _chérie_. You will be missed!" With his countenance brimming with a devilish plot, he backed out of the drawing room and kicked the door closed behind him.

It was fortuitous the maître d' had taken Babette's glass, for in that moment, it would have left her hand to shatter against the door.

* * *

As he had promised, he did not speak a word to her after that, which began to suit Babette just fine. However, over the next few meal preparations, Babette grew very annoyed of Lumière's smug, teasing glances he would throw her way, like he knew something she didn't and was daring her to guess what it was. She refused to play along, and ignored him the best she could.

After one tedious dinner, Babette decided to go straight to bed, exhausted from letting herself become frustrated. As she turned the corner of the maids' corridor, what did she witness but a maid trapped between a door and the maître d'.

This took Babette completely by surprise, and a sudden spike of jealousy ran through her heart. She rejected the feeling as she told herself that this was to be expected. This was even what she wanted, for him to not focus his attentions on her alone. Still, she at least expected Lumière to have a shred of dignity when he set out to fondle the maid of his current fancy.

She took a proper aristocratic stance with an erected back and lifted chin and walked nobly by the bawdy scene without another glance, blocking out the sound of them kissing by playing her favorite gavotte in her mind. As she got to her door a few rooms down from the couple, Babette heard the maid say, "Oh, Lumière, _mon chère_ , where did all of this affection come from? Not that I'm complaining of course." Babette immediately recognized the voice as Michelle's. Her hand froze on the handle.

"As you well know, I have much to give." Lumière's silky smooth tone pricked against Babette's ear as if a gnat were buzzing near it. "As of late, I found myself starving for a certain form of compassion, and I realized I would not receive any from where I was looking."

Babette felt heat rise to her face, but was still unable to move.

"Well, if you come inside, I will make sure you get more than your fill."

" _Chérie_ , I am only too glad to accept. As the saying goes, two is company, but three is a crowd."

Startled at this, Babette faced the pair to find Lumière staring right back with that despicable grin on his face. He had been aware of her standing there the entire time.

As Michelle followed his gaze, her cheeks visibly flushing, and she directed a piercing glare at her fellow maid. She grabbed his cravat and pulled him into her room in one swift motion, and then the hallway was still.

So _this_ was what he had in mind since the moment he took his victory walk out of the drawing room. This was not for his benefit. This was for the sole purpose of making her upset. He was trying to get a response from her once again for his own pleasure.

Well, he was never getting it. Not after that shameless display. She was all too familiar with the game he was trying to play, and she would refuse to participate.

Babette entered her room and swung her door closed with a _bang!_

* * *

There was nothing more passionate and ferocious than a jealous woman.

It was as if Michelle were trying to suck the very thought of Babette out of Lumière's mind through his mouth. She had always been a feisty thing, but she was prone to wanting to take their time together too far. For example, Michelle assumed that when they were kissing in a room that happened to contain a bed that there suddenly became a need to undress.

Lumière had taken it that far before, but only with two other women when he was young and impulsive. He had no desire for Michelle to be his third.

As much as he might appreciate Michelle for having a bit of bite to her, he found he lost the want for her company once he faintly heard Babette's door slam.

He successfully executed the "close your eyes" maneuver before discreetly leaving her room and ducking inside a broom closet. Keeping the handle turned, he held the door closed and counted down from five before hearing Michelle's footsteps hurry past his hiding spot. After listening carefully to make sure she was gone, he vacated the closet as he refastened the buttons on his vest, a smirk emerging as his eyes found Babette's chamber door.

Lumière could not have met a better opponent to play his mind games with. She had helped him recognize they had both become too complacent spending time together, and yet they were getting nowhere. His need to uncover her was becoming insatiable, his feelings for her only grew, and she remained stagnant. The agreement between them still stood, and he was no nearer to having her call it off.

He hadn't wanted to at first. He did his best to respect her wishes, but the task quickly turned Herculean. She tempted him at every opportunity, whether she meant to or not. To his dismay, she was causing his restraint to crumble at an alarming rate. That was when he realized he had to do something to trigger her true feelings. And nothing brought out a woman's true feelings than the wicked green monster of envy.

Of course, he hadn't expected only Michelle to do the trick. It was going to take Jacqueline, Colette, Marguerite, Simone, little Veronique, and maybe even Agnès to convince Babette that she needed his company just as much as he needed hers. Behind that wall of indifference and sarcasm was a beating heart waiting for the chance to feel love again. It might take some time to lure her out of her fortress, but Lumière was a patient man.

She could not fight off jealousy for long. No woman could.

* * *

Babette had never been a devout Christian, but, in the night as she tried to fall asleep peacefully, she found herself praying to whatever God that be to smite that cavalier, contemptible casanova who bore the name of Lumière.

After a meal, on her way to clean, to take a well-deserved nap, wherever, whenever, somehow that maître d' managed to place himself in her path with another maid attached to him at the mouth. She could never predict if she would see him around the corner. It left her feeling incompetent, which was infuriating. Babette de Chantemerle, daughter of the Comte de Charolles, should be able to stop a man from defiling her path and sight with his public displays of affection with multiple girls.

But she couldn't say a word. To say anything would prove she cared. She didn't. She couldn't. He could flirt and kiss with all the women in this castle, he could pretend she was part of the furniture, he could follow her to the ends of the earth, but she would not give him an insignificant speck of the satisfaction that she knew he craved so badly. She would return home without saying another word to him if that was what it took.

Relaxing on the end of Babette's bed, Angélique tiredly watched Babette pace in front of the hearth as the maid ranted and raved these cries of indignation.

"I _hate_ him!" Babette insisted. "I _hate_ him for making me feel this way! I cannot even comprehend how he has managed to do this to me! I have been watching the same show for over a fortnight, albeit with a different leading actress," she added with spite, "and I still have the same sting of…" Babette stopped herself before she could admit it. There maintained a hope that if she didn't voice it, it was not true.

However, thinking they were finally getting to the bottom of Babette's distress, Angélique perked up to inquire, "Sting of what?"

Babette pretended not to hear, resuming, "You would think I would be immune to it by now. He has gone through more than half of the maids and I continue to feel irritated at his actions."

"Only irritated?" her friend interrupted skeptically.

Babette turned to her with a poker face. "Oui. I find this entire charade an exaggerated annoyance."

"I know there is more to it than that, _mon amie_. Please, if just for the sake of time, admit that you miss him."

The maid snorted, going back to running a hole in the carpet. "Then it would be a lie."

"Babette," Angélique reprimanded sternly. "He is not going to stop until you say something. If there is only one quality that could possibly outweigh his ego, it is his capacity for patience. He will wait as long as it takes. And, for you, he will wait even longer."

Babette stopped pacing to stare at the decorator, lines appearing on her brow as she frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Angélique shook her head. _They are both fooling themselves_. "The point is you are not going to outlast him. I know you are resilient, but he has already whittled you down." She gestured to the maid. "The proof is right before me."

Babette wanted to protest, but found she could only sigh. She was tired and frustrated and tense and restless. She tossed and turned all night and never seemed to find a moment's rest. She wanted it all to end.

Noticing she had her attention, Angélique said, "Look, _he_ is tired of those maids he has to flirt with to get your attention and _you_ are tired of watching him look like he is having fun. The answer is plain and simple: call a truce."

"That would be the same as surrendering, and it is not as simple as you make it out to be. How would you know how he feels anyway?" Babette suddenly accused.

Angélique groaned as she stood, finally losing her patience. "I wish I could show you how ridiculous you sound! Both of you need to end this foolishness because it is taking up too much of my time. I need to be planning the Christmas ball, not playing mediator between children." She stomped out of the bedroom before Babette could create a decent retort.

"Children", she called them. When Babette's only defense for her stubbornness was "Lumière started it", it was very true. What did it matter if he had started it? She could end it.

But the very thought of speaking to him about it, speaking to him at all, only made her blood boil.

Babette much preferred to stare out of her bedroom window from her chaise longue, allowing the hail that pattered loudly against the glass to drown out her thoughts.

* * *

As the decorator strode angrily around the corner, her arm was caught and pulled to the man hiding just behind it. Noting her expression, Lumière said, "I am guessing your talk didn't fare well."

Angélique huffed like a bull about to charge. " _You._ " She yanked her arm away to point furiously at him and Babette's general location. " _You_ are _both_ acting like complete toddlers! I do not know how you did it, but you have managed to bring her down to your level of immaturity. Neither of you want to listen to reason! You would rather make each other suffer out of pure pride." She sighed, drained from her exasperation. " _Dieu_ , you two are the last people that should quarrel. An apology would not come from either of you even after kingdom come. Why do you not just kiss and make up, for heaven's sake?"

This question caught his attention. Lumière raised an eyebrow at her. "If I could, do you truly believe I would go to this much trouble?"

She grasped her forehead, remembering. "Oh, of course, you two are not even a couple. This is all too much like a lovers' spat that I completely forgot."

Her words did not breach his ear as he peered around the corner to see if there was movement by Babette's door. He then turned to her expectantly. "Well? What did she say?"

"She despises you," as if that summarized it.

He rolled his eyes, this being old news. "What else?"

Angélique crossed her arms in thought. "She began to mention that every time she saw you with another woman, she felt a sting of… something. She refused to say, but, based off of my observations, I would venture to assume she was about to say 'jealousy'."

His mouth broke into a victorious grin. "Aha! I knew it would work! She is no different than any other woman." He leaned around the corner again to gaze intently at the maid's door. "Now I only need to provoke her into admitting how she truly feels."

"Lumière," Angélique began to chastise, "do you remember when I told you _not_ to trifle with Babette's heart?"

The maître d' sighed. Of course he did. He tore his eyes away from the hall. "There is more to this than what you think."

"I hope that there is," she said genuinely, "but I would like for you to tell me how."

Lumière remained silent. It was not necessarily that he did not want to say, but that he did not know how.

She became stern. "Lumière, you are torturing that poor girl."

He snorted at the insinuation of Babette being feeble. If he could handle her taunting without breaking character, she could stand to be a little envious of a few of her fellow maids.

"Well, she has done the same to me for quite some time," he replied in an acute tone that Angélique hardly recognized.

"Is that it then? This is all payback?" She knew Lumière was the last to hold a grudge, but she had never seen him place so much focus on one woman for this long.

She found herself a bit relieved when he immediately shook his head. "Of course not. It is not so trivial as a petty tit-for-tat."

Did she really have to spell it out for him to acknowledge it? The longing look in his eyes as he stared at Babette's door, the way his face seemed to light up at the very mention of her, this master plan of his…

"Lumière, can you not even confess that you are in love with her?"

He smirked coyly at her. "Now, _mon ange_ , where would such a declaration get me?"

Displeased with this unrevealing reaction to her prompt, the annoyed decorator surrendered and walked off to attend duties of a more vital importance, leaving Lumière to formulate his own strategies of seizing the elusive young maid.


	15. Ragged Edges

As November smoothly transitioned into December, the hard, icy sleet became gentle snow. The grounds soon became a sea of white with the only glimpse of color being evergreen, where pine trees and bushes that still maintained their rich emerald color occasionally peeked from underneath. Snow lined the windows and their sills, and the chill from the outside could be felt when looking out over the blanket of snow as if it were trying to breach the château. All night and day, hearths blazed in every room to keep the cold at bay.

After the evening when Angélique had stormed out of her chambers, Babette soon noticed that Lumière's affairs no longer obstructed her path wherever she went. She still tensed around every corner, expecting to find him with another maid any moment, but he was never there. He also completely ignored her in the kitchens with barely any glances in her direction. She began to think he was trying to lure her into a false sense of security. She feared what else he could possibly have up his sleeve that would be worse than what he had already inflicted.

While they cleaned the kitchens after dinner, it all became clear.

Babette's mind was far away from the water and soap her hands scrubbed dishes with. Then a particular presence closed in and began drying the plates and glasses she had cleaned, calling her back to the kitchen.

Staring into the suds, she continued her work while she felt his eyes glance sideways at her. She waited for him to speak.

Noting how stiff she suddenly became at his approach, Lumière released an amused sigh. "Babette, _chérie_ , how long do you plan to maintain this silent treatment? Brooding does not become you."

Before she took a deep breath through her nose, she realized she had been holding it in. Trying to keep her voice even and eyes averted, she replied in false repartee, "Is a silent treatment not what you were giving me? I thought I was not company enough."

Grinning at her though she refused to look directly at him, he playfully admonished, "Oh, _ma chère_ , that is utter nonsense, and you know it." He peered over his shoulder before leaning in closely so the other maids playing servers couldn't overhear. "Not even the best of them put together can compete with you alone." Straightening, he resumed, "And to think, I had to come to that conclusion first hand! I am as much the fool as you believe me to be."

Babette laughed humorlessly, but she could have misled anyone who did not know the context. "Perhaps you should not have too much confidence in what my opinions may be, especially in regards to you, _mon chère_. And I do not think you could properly compare me with any other maid here, since I am the only one you have never managed to kiss."

Gazing at her intently, Lumière murmured, "You know, that can easily be arranged. You only need to ask."

She rolled her shoulders in an attempt to relax them. "You are too eager, monsieur. It may come to surprise you that I would prefer not to discover what my fellow maids taste like." Finally turning to him, she added sanguinely, "My condolences, but… non, merci."

Shrugging indifferently, he returned part of his attention to drying. "That is quite all right. I know enough about how you feel to get by."

He watched as her hands that were scrubbing a platter stalled against it. He patiently awaited her response as he tried to suppress a smirk that longed to breach his features.

 _Do not reply, do not reply_ , Babette furiously thought, minding that she keep cleaning. That was all he wanted was for her to ask what in hell he meant by that snide remark. Her stomach clenched at the idea of him really knowing what had gone on inside her head seeing him with other women. He wouldn't know. He was trying to make her tell him by acting like he did.

Lumière had to give her credit for having such fortitude. He didn't expect her to keep her cool for this long. _It is still early_. He continued to prod, "I couldn't help but notice during those few instances I happened to catch you passing by while I tried to keep my attention on another that, at the time, you seemed a little… green."

Reacting to the abrupt assertion, Babette faced him instantly, baffled. "Green?"

"Surely, you know the saying, as Shakespeare so eloquently put, 'It is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on.'"

Babette immediately regretted speaking up. She _did_ remember that line. It was from _Othello,_ one of a sparse few books she had read during her lessons that she had sincerely enjoyed. She had always thought it one of her favorites. Now he was quoting it against her, changing its meaning forever.

Pretending he didn't see her blush, he went on thoughtfully, "It seems crude, given the relation, but it aptly describes the plague of jealousy. Do not be ashamed, _chérie_. No one is immune."

Her attempt to keep calm was slowly dissolving as she felt her countenance tighten. "You do not mean to suggest that I was envious of your barrage of public rendezvous."

It was the time to strike. Lumière spoke bluntly but with continued ease, "Actually, that is exactly what I'm suggesting. I know the truth, so please, do not continue to hide behind that careless façade you are so keen on wearing whenever I am near. It has long since lost its value."

Finished washing dishes, Babette dried her hands in rushed movements on a towel. "'Façade', you say? At least mine is not so transparent." As she said it, she began to realize his motives. "This entire charade is not going to make me crawl to you as you so hope it will." She then hurried to pursue some other chore on the other side of the kitchen.

Stunned at this accusation that came so near to the truth, his confident attitude left him but was quickly replaced by indignation. He wouldn't dare let her have the last word in that way. As he followed, he drew some eyes from the other servants. When in close proximity, he replied to her in a hushed tone, "Do you truly think so highly of yourself? You are not the only woman here deserving of attention, especially when it is constantly rejected."

She had kept her eyes cast down on the counter as she wiped it clean, but she spun to him to retort vehemently, "Are you to say that I prompted you to go on a spree of the castle's women? You're blaming your heinous actions on _me?_ "

The rest of the kitchen staff was starting to stare. Lumière reprimanded seriously, "Calm down, Babette. You are blowing this way out of proportion."

Not caring about the attention and ignoring his words completely, she persisted fiercely, "You do not know when to quit, do you? Well, I will have you know that these little games you play are far beneath me, and I cannot stand what you do to get me to participate."

His temper began to rise. "Do _not_ stand there claiming you are of any higher moral standing than me. In fact, from what I recall, you have stooped lower on multiple accounts."

Babette pursed her lips, standing taller. "I know I have, and I am not ashamed. But there is a time to grow up, and _you_ , Lumière, may look the part of a man, but remain only a child!"

Steadfast in his resolve, he countered, "If I am a child, then you are no different. You and I are one in the same, _chérie_ , you cannot deny that."

At how sure he sounded, Babette became frightened. Everything suddenly felt wrong. She couldn't be what he was. She wasn't allowed to be. She had to have changed. She had felt it. What scared her was how uncertain she became of that fact. Could she ever change?

Her mouth hung open before she was able to force sound out. "I will deny it with all of my being! I want no part in your ploys to cajole me into giving away feelings that I—" Her voice caught in her throat. What did she feel? Confused? Angry? Heartbroken?

As her eyes began to glisten, Lumière found he had crossed some invisible line. He thought he had known her limits, but she had managed to catch him off-guard yet again.

"Babette," he said gently. "Everything I did was meant to be harmless—"

"'Harmless'," she repeated coldly. "You underestimate your influence, monsieur." After taking a shaky breath, she mumbled, "I am… mortified to admit that we have that in common." Not being able to take Lumière's presence any longer, she abruptly left the kitchens, the doors swinging to an excruciatingly slow halt.

Her quiet words sat in the air. Lumière was at a complete loss at the turn the conversation had taken, and realized that the staff had stopped in the middle of their chores to watch the commotion between them. He glanced up at them, and whatever expression he had on his face must have told them to return to work. The space refilled with sounds of clanging metals, sweeping, and whispered discussions as they all averted their gazes. All except Mrs. Potts, whose kind eyes were set sadly under her brow and lips were in a firm line, clearly conveying her disappointment in him. Before he could cringe away from her eye contact, she turned her back to resume her work.

He smoothed and straightened his vest in an effort to regain some composure and followed the others' lead to refrain from wondering where he now stood with Babette. The vision of her distress and anguish contorting her beautiful features hung in front him like a framed painting.

* * *

This whole ordeal… It was all her fault.

Babette had led him on. She had given him the hope that her feelings were changing towards him, and it was only natural for him to take advantage of it and use that in his favor. Why couldn't he have listened to her instead? She was so guilty and frustrated she felt sick to her stomach. She hated him as much as she hated herself.

Once in the servants' wing, she saw Cogsworth approaching down the hall, but not before he saw her. She was clutching herself tightly and a few tears had fallen down her cheeks, which she hastily wiped away.

The majordomo's brow furrowed. "Babette, what happened?"

"If you could excuse me, monsieur, I—I need to be alone. A thousand apologies." And without another word, she rushed past him and out of sight.

Cogsworth's countenance hardened. _Lumière_.

When he made it to the kitchen doors, the staff was filing out, all except for the maître d'. Upon entering, he found Lumière with his back to him, but clearly filling to the brim a glass of wine.

Cogsworth folded his arms. " _Ahem!_ "

As Lumière faced him, he downed half of his glass before grimacing. "Oh _Dieu_ , you talked to Babette."

"I didn't need to!" Cogsworth stated, aghast. "She was in tears! Who else could have caused her to cry?"

Lumière shut his eyes as he sighed deeply. "I am well aware of it."

"Then what are you doing here?" Cogsworth jutted a finger at the door. "Apologize to her immediately!"

Glaring at him, Lumière said, "Leave me be, Cogsworth. This is a personal matter, and your meddling will not help to fix it at the 'swift pace' you so much prefer."

Cogsworth's eyes widened, dumbfounded at the mere suggestion. "A _personal_ matter? May I remind you that once it interferes with your work, it is no longer 'personal'! By heaven, this on-and-off again feud of yours must _end!_ "

Lumière wanted to argue, but had not the energy. It was too taxing to fight for another lost cause. Still, he had to point out, "It takes more than one to have a feud. Why do you not lecture Babette on how you feel as well?"

"In time, Lumière, once she has calmed down. Until then, you need to address your mistakes and mend them. Plead for forgiveness if necessary, but I will not allow you to relax unless something is done about this tonight!"

He would have done so without an order, but Lumière refused to mention it. Instead, he asked contemptuously, "May I finish my wine first?"

Cogsworth rolled his eyes irritably. The man could never just do what he was told when he was told. He complied rather peevishly, "Fine, if you must, just don't finish off the bottle! We ship enough wine without you draining our reserves!" On that note, he stomped from the room, leaving Lumière to stare sullenly at the swirling contents of his glass.

* * *

Babette could be found curled up on her bed, glaring at the wall as she hugged a pillow to her chest. She was still fully dressed in her maid's uniform except for her shoes, which had been angrily thrown off of her feet as she had run into her chambers.

On the brink of womanhood, at fourteen, she had felt similarly before, detesting everything in the world around her and believing she was to blame for her own misery. After her first major battle with her mother, Babette had sprinted to her room and proceeded to rip off her dress and all its restrictions. It had been foolish of her to actually be excited to wear such rich fabric and draping when a fancy act was all they were. It was a costume for an actress to wear. She had refused to pretend for such trivial people as the lords and ladies who her parents were inclined to be civil to. She was not an actress. Wishing others would be honest with her, she felt obligated to be the same way. How could one improve without a truthful opinion about their person? She might have come off as rude, but she had only the best intentions. And yet, her mother had dragged her off to tell her to not speak so uncongenially or she would be punished for it later. Babette had thought it so unjust that she was compelled to voice it. With their guests being in the parlor next door, Clarisse had been mortified. She had told Babette she was appalled at her daughter's own insolence and would never forgive her for her behavior.

Babette realized that Clarisse spoke out of anger that night, and as a mother, would forgive her, but not until much later. She had never felt forgiven. Not until the night before the journey to this château.

As much as she had improved her act since that day at fourteen, she was still supremely unfit to hide her true emotions. Even there, as a simple maid, her lack of restraint was getting her into trouble.

Now she could hardly discern what those emotions were. When it came to Lumière, he was able to stir them into horrible confusion by his presence alone. What did that say about him? What did that mean for her?

At the core of all she felt, she couldn't deny she had a certain degree of fondness for him. They shared a connection that surpassed all of whom she had met before. But the amount of similarities between them was absolutely frightening. Babette saw who she truly was reflected in his eyes and words, and it meant that she had not changed since her first day as a maid. All she was doing was holding herself back, afraid to let her true self run wild. How much longer could she control herself until she finally broke free?

A knock on her door shattered the silence, followed by a maternal voice. "Dearie, are you in there?"

Mrs. Potts. Her offer would still stand from what seemed like so long ago. Maybe she could finally vent all of the frustration, including the truth of her social standing. It was such a wonderful thought, but it left her panicked at what Mrs. Potts' reaction would be, allowing the worst case scenario to flash across her mind.

"Oui," Babette struggled to call, keeping her pillow clutched in a tight hug as she sat up.

As the door opened, a tea trolley entered with Mrs. Potts trailing behind it. Babette did not expect to feel as pleased as she was when she saw the housekeeper.

Mrs. Potts grinned warmly. "Good evening, dear."

"Bonsoir, madame," Babette greeted, returning a small smile. She gestured to the trolley. "What is all this?"

"Why, it's my special brew of earl grey tea," Mrs. Potts explained proudly, alighting gently on the edge of the bed. "I find it does wonders for the nerves, and it just warms your center! Would you like to try?"

Babette had never been a devout tea drinker, but was too much obliged to refuse a woman with such good intentions. "I would, merci."

Using the trolley as a table, Mrs. Potts poured a steaming cup for each of them, adding two spoonfuls of sugar and a touch of cream to Babette's cup as instructed. The maid absently blew on her tea as Mrs. Potts inquired, "You're awfully quiet, dear. Are you feeling all right?"

Babette cleared her throat. "Yes, I am well enough." Her voice still felt rusty. She took a cautious sip of her tea.

The housekeeper sighed, whether in relief or fatigue, Babette could not tell. "I must say, you had me worried, leaving the way you did after dinner."

The young maid remained silent as she stared at the reddish-brown liquid warming her hands. She took another sip.

Aware that she was broaching a sensitive subject, Mrs. Potts was doing the best she could to ease into it, however warily. She moved a small plate of shortbread cookies closer to Babette. "Have a biscuit, dear. It complements the tea quite nicely."

She did not think she could eat a crumb, but she tried a cookie with a tentative nibble. Thankfully, her stomach was not rejecting it.

"You know, Babette," Mrs. Potts began, deciding to dive in, as it was now or never, "I feel I should apologize for that squabble in the kitchens."

Babette shook her head, interrupting, "Please, Mrs. Potts, do not apologize on his behalf. You are the last to blame for his actions."

Mrs. Potts gazed at the teapot without really seeing it, looking baffled. "I just don't understand what could have caused such behavior! I have never seen him act that way during meals. He's always been good about separating work and his free time." She faced Babette, her loving eyes surprisingly piercing. "And I can see as I look at you now you are taking responsibility for the whole mess."

Whatever reserve Babette had been weakly maintaining crumbled into a heap. She had to glance away as tears formed once more, a small sob racking her frame.

After swiftly taking her teacup to set aside so Babette would not spill it, Mrs. Potts scooted closer and embraced her without a second thought. "Oh, my dear, it's all right." She soothingly patted her back. "You don't have to keep it all in any longer."

Babette leaned her forehead onto her shoulder, squeezing her lids shut to prevent more tears. The burden was becoming too heavy to bear. Mrs. Potts had been right; it was unhealthy to hide shameful secrets for so long.

Spotting a handkerchief on Babette's nightstand, Mrs. Potts let go of the girl to snatch it up, returning a second later to dab Babette's eyes and cheeks. "Now, then, let's get those tears wiped away, take deep breaths. You're all right, love, hush now."

Even by her own mother, Babette had not been so doted on like this. Her father, on the other hand, would never allow a tear to fall down her cheek without him catching it on whatever piece of cloth he had. She felt like the seven-year-old girl who had tripped and fell into the mud in front of one and all at a garden party, staining her brand new dress and pristine white gloves she had anticipated wearing for a week prior. She was ruined and dirty, but though her parents were not around, there was still someone to comfort her in her turmoil. The sobs rapidly disappeared.

As Babette calmed herself, Mrs. Potts happened to notice embroidery on a corner of the handkerchief in red thread, and took a closer look. In small yet clear cursive, it cleanly read, _J.L.L._

The housekeeper sighed again. It was Lumière's initials. Those two did not even know their own feelings.

"Mrs. Potts," Babette suddenly addressed.

The motherly woman looked up, folding the handkerchief with initials inside. "Yes, dear?"

Finally able to meet her gaze, she held it steady. She was going to say it. "There is something I need to—"

A fleeting movement by the door caught her eye. Babette stood to investigate, placing her pillow aside. Upon approach, she saw a thin slip with a ragged edge, as though ripped off the bottom of a sheet of parchment. Picking it up gingerly, she turned it over to read two simple words in hastily flowing script: _I surrender._

Babette pursed her lips, her concoction of emotions starting to boil inside her after just becoming pacified. His impeccable timing astounded her.

"What is it?"

Babette folded the scrap of paper messily into her fist. "It's nothing." Facing the housekeeper, she added sadly, "I very much appreciate your kindness, Mrs. Potts, more than words can express. But… I think I must turn in for the night."

Mrs. Potts paused, concern and unspoken words taking up her features. "I understand, dear. I'll leave you to rest." Standing up and pocketing the handkerchief, she walked over to bring Babette into her arms once more, and Babette willingly returned the hug, feeling her eyes begin to sting.

With hands on the maid's shoulders, Mrs. Potts pulled away to say, "Just… let me know if you ever want to talk some more, all right?" She dotted her words with a smile, and Babette somehow managed to mirror it.

Mrs. Potts grabbed her trolley and wheeled it out as Babette opened the door for her, imparting, "You get some sleep now, love. Good night."

"Merci, madame. Good night."

After closing the door behind her, Babette opened up her hand and unwrinkled the parchment, smoothing it taut with her fingers. _I surrender_.

How was she supposed to respond to that? That might have been what she had wanted, but she realized that giving up was the last thing she wanted Lumière to do. She wanted him to fight for her, but with some decorum. He thought he had to go about it in this sneaky, low-handed way. If he was going to do it anyway, he might as well court her properly.

Oh _Dieu_ … what was she thinking? She crumpled up the slip in her hand and tossed it into the hearth, watching the flames curl the parchment to ash.

Nothing was going to happen between them. Nothing _should_ happen between them. She was, first and foremost, Élisabeth de Chantemerle, Vicomtesse de Charolles. To regain her honor long since forgotten, she would marry a man of equal or higher birth and title, a man she would have a hand in picking, as she had made her father promise. Never at any point was Lumière to be a possible option.

Babette closed her eyes, listening to the wood crackle and watching the light dance from behind her lids. She proceeded to unpin her hair and undress. The only thing she would let her body crave was a hot bath.


	16. Estranged

Lumière hadn't expected anything to change when he had tossed his brief note under Babette's door, but he at least wanted her to know that his pathetic game was over and done with. He was no longer in the mood to continue playing.

She did not return to the kitchens after that evening. He could hardly blame her, but her absence only seemed to be as blatant a reminder as if she were really present.

As expected, Cogsworth was not satisfied with the way Lumière had handled the situation. The majordomo wanted results from a decent effort, but Lumière knew that any effort was futile this soon after their argument. Being such an excellent keeper of time, the maître d' would have liked Cogsworth to understand that certain living things like human beings need time to let the anger fade. Very slim hopes were quickly dashed, in that regard.

If Lumière didn't feel guilt-ridden enough about what he had done, Mrs. Potts managed to make it worse.

One evening, after the rest of the kitchen staff had left, she held out a familiar white cloth. "I believe this belongs to you," she stated cordially enough.

Recognizing it, he took it with a grin. "So it does! I cannot seem to keep it from flying from my pockets without my notice. Where did you find it hovering this time?"

"On a nightstand." Her matriarchal but stern eyes bored into his, her tone level. "Right next to Babette's pillow."

His grin flickered away from his face as the memory came back to him. Glancing down from her gaze to the handkerchief, he replied feebly, "Ah, oui. I forgot she had kept it."

Mrs. Potts was the only one between them to know with certainty why Babette hadn't given it back. Realizing any additional words would be insufficient, she exited the kitchens. He didn't follow.

Had Babette's feelings for him really been tenderer than he had first perceived? No longer wanting it in her possession, had she given Mrs. Potts the handkerchief to return to its shameful owner? How badly had he damaged their friendship, just because he had longed for something more?

Lumière thought this all crueler punishment than he deserved, but that might account from his poor judgment of late. He tucked his handkerchief into his vest pocket. In the case of Babette, the ideas to amend it continued to amount to none.

* * *

After another day of perfunctory cleaning, Babette had the desire to shut off her mind as soon as possible by going to bed early, as was steadily becoming routine. It was surprising how easily she could get over her habit of making her way to the kitchens at its precise times.

Her hand was on her door's knob, so close to refuge, as Veronique's soprano voice was heard from behind her. The little maid jogged spritely down the corridor. "Oh, Babette, before you turn in, Cogsworth has asked to see you."

Babette turned, eyebrow raised in intrigue. "See me?"

"Yes, in his study."

Briefly thanking Veronique and praying that Cogsworth did not plan to take long, Babette went downstairs and found the flawlessly stained mahogany door with its polished brass handle halfway down the corridor, knocking on it firmly.

"Come in," she heard him allow.

Peeking in, she uncertainly inquired, "You wished to see me?"

Cogsworth hardly glanced from what he was intently writing at his desk. She almost wished he would deny having called for her, but he replied inattentively, "Ah, yes, Babette, please." He gestured to a straight-backed wooden chair before him.

Slipping in and shutting the door, Babette took in her surroundings, as small as they were. As he was not one for unnecessary adornments, only a large bookcase covered one wall, books filling each row perfectly, along with a portrait of the royal family. It hung on the wall where the door stood and where his desk faced, clearly painted when the Prince had only been born. The Queen held him in a bundle in her arms as the King had a hand placed affectionately on her shoulder. Their expressions were nobly benign with demure smiles, but the artist had managed to capture the special light in their eyes that conveyed their good nature and joy of their newborn son. It was a very admirable portrait, and a worthy addition to a servant's study whose loyalties so staunchly lied with those it depicted.

As Cogsworth set his quill down and placed the letter off to the side to dry, Babette took the seat across from him, politely folding her hands on her lap.

"First of all," he began, and Babette inwardly groaned, "I must address the matter that occurred at dinner not many nights ago."

Crossing her arms indignantly, Babette opened her mouth to speak, but Cogsworth plowed on, "Now, before I hear what I'm sure would be your defense on the subject, I find myself in the position to permanently remove you from the serving staff, whereas, during those times you would normally spend in the kitchens, will furthermore be strictly your maid duties. I have had quite enough of the frequent bickering between you and Lumière, and decided it best if you both no longer have the obligation to be within the same vicinity so your egos can continue to clash." He noted her frown stayed in place. "I would have hoped this would ease your tension, since you have been flagrantly disregarding your work in the kitchens anyway."

She merely shrugged. Since the night of the incident, she had refused to waste any more thought on the subject. "What more did you need to tell me?"

"It isn't what I can tell you, but what you can tell me." Cogsworth leaned forward on his desk with a keen interest. "Though it has been some time since, I need you to recall what really happened during the masquerade."

Lumière hadn't exaggerated after all. At the very mention of the masquerade, the memories of that night flooded back into her vision. Babette made herself look on them with a cold and calculating eye. Currently, her only allegiances were with herself and the truth. "I came across a man from my past who spoke lies about me. I… became upset and escaped outside to clear my head and calm down. It was Lumière who found me and took me back inside. He insisted I rest from the ball, and… that was that." She tried to avoid thinking of more, but the distinct recollection of the comforting warmth of his hands in hers took form. She shook her head to drive it away.

Cogsworth leaned back in his comfortable but modest armchair, chuckling. "Oh, I knew he was fibbing. He thought he was being _so_ clever with that nonsensical anecdote about a 'dizzy spell'." He seemed to look at her in a new light. "I appreciate you being so forward about what actually occurred."

Babette, feeling her throat was stuck, could only nod. Her stomach was beginning to tighten again.

Straightening in his seat, Cogsworth resumed, "Tomorrow morning, you and the rest of the staff will begin preparations for the holidays and Christmas Eve ball. We have an entire castle to clean and decorate, so everyone must be well-rested and alert, including you. But, before I forget, I want to inform that your parents will be attending the ball, and are most curious to inspect your progress."

The reminder hit Babette as waywardly as it had when Queen Beatrice briefed her of it. It struck her that she still did not know how she felt about it. She made herself focus as Cogsworth went on, "I have been sending them reports every two weeks, which have expressed my admiration for your dexterity, given you had never performed a servant's duties before."

Since he was clearly expecting gratitude for his generosity, Babette replied with sincerity, "Merci, monsieur." A question was poised nervously on the edge of her tongue, and she allowed herself to ask it, despite any hesitation. "Do my parents know about…?"

Immediately catching on to her meaning, Cogsworth answered concisely, "No, mademoiselle, I have purposely left Lumière out of any of my letters. No need to raise concern where none should exist."

Breathing a subtle sigh of relief, she thanked the heavens that Lumière was a well-kept secret from those she would least like to discover him.

"That will be all," he dismissed unceremoniously, returning to his stack of documents in a neat pile by his elbow.

Her mind now absorbed with the fact of her parents' impending visit, Babette went to leave the majordomo's study. Thinking more on it, she realized she could not wait for the day when they would take her home. All she wanted to do was escape. Being trapped in the same fortress with a man that left her more befuddled and agitated than all of the men she had met put together was overwhelming her. The emotions he was able to conjure made her want to hide. She had always been of strong constitution, but she realized she only wanted to be safe. In the position she was in, she would not be safe around Lumière.

Closing the door behind her, Babette found she was not alone in the hallway. As she glanced up to acknowledge who it was, she immediately regretted it. Her cheeks blanching, she spun in the other direction in a hasty retreat.

At the sight of her fright, Lumière knew that a chance of reform was less than likely still. He watched her run away as the hollow pit in his stomach pulsed with regret. Glancing at the door she had exited, the pit suddenly filled with a thirsty fire. Whatever relation Cogsworth had with Babette was going to be uncovered.

Striding with purpose to the majordomo's study, Lumière burst through the door, causing Cogsworth to jump in alarm. His stack of papers teetered precariously, but he grabbed at the pile before they could scatter in a heap to the floor.

Getting to his feet, he cried angrily, " _Lumière!_ This is inexcusable! In all my years—"

Promptly shutting the door behind him, Lumière interrupted with determination, "I need to know what is going on between you and Babette."

Bewildered at the unexpected statement, Cogsworth grew a little redder as he was regaining his thoughts. He attempted to maintain his fury to hide his panic as he asked, "I _beg_ your pardon?"

To clarify, Lumière casually leaned forward on the desk as he explained with intent focus, refusing to be fooled, "I remember distinctly that you have tried, in ways not slight enough to escape my notice, to discourage me from taking any interest in Babette. At times you almost seemed… well, the word is a bit strong but, 'paternal' towards her, and I have not the sufficient knowledge to grasp an understanding as to why that is." He sat down in the wooden chair across from Cogsworth, crossing his ankle over his knee as he got comfortable, to make the point, "And I will not leave until I hear something I like."

With eyes narrowed in consideration, Cogsworth slowly descended into his armchair. He could rant and fume all he would like that Lumière didn't deserve a syllable of explanation from him, especially with how rudely he had trespassed his office. However, he knew that was not going to get the maître d' to leave, and he would just come back to repeat the question later on. He was very keen on preventing that possibility. Besides, if Lumière knew the truth of who Babette really was, he would assuredly—one could hope—stop all of this skirt-chasing where she was concerned.

Cogsworth sighed heavily. It was probably best he knew.

Interlocking his fingers on his desk, he looked right back at Lumière's defiant stare. Pronouncing every word clearly, he said, "Fine. I will tell you. But what I tell you will not leave this room, under any circumstances. No one else is supposed to know. Understood?"

Lumière straightened in his chair, becoming more interested and eager for the secret to finally be revealed. "You have my honor," he promised.

 _That's reassuring_ , Cogsworth had the reflex to say, but decided to keep that to himself this time. He paused to figure out how best to phrase it. "Babette was arranged to work here by her family, the Chantemerle, for punishment. She was not one of their maids, as it's been assumed, but is, rather, their daughter, Élisabeth. Her father is René de Chantemerle, Comte de Charolles."

Cogsworth waited for Lumière to respond but he could only stare, lines engraved between his brows. Lumière had the urge to laugh at the idea of Babette being a viscountess. Cogsworth couldn't be serious, yet his countenance clearly said otherwise, not to mention the fact that he didn't have a humorous bone in his body. Well, except for jokes that only _he_ thought funny, but that was beside the point. Babette couldn't be a noble. That was impossible.

And yet, she said she was the _maid_ of Élisabeth. Who was to say she was lying when she knew so much about her mistress, when she was actually _her?_ She had known nothing, absolutely nothing, about being a server, which she would have undoubtedly had experience doing had she been a maid in a count's manor. Inquisitiveness and brashness were traits no sane servant kept, but Babette had both in abundance. Her posture was all too proud and perfect to have stooped over dirty floors and counters for years. When her light blue eyes didn't blaze with passion, she could have the innocent look of a newborn doe lost in a wood, like that first day in the kitchens. Her soft and delicate hands could never have defied years of hard labor had she been a servant all of her life.

The missing pieces fit the puzzle. Babette was Élisabeth de Chantemerle, an aristocrat playing a maid.

Lumière had to stand to absorb it all. He walked around the chair, gripping the back of it tightly with one hand as he glared at the Palladian carpet so obviously brought over from England. How typical.

Cogsworth watched him with a vague concern, or maybe it was merely curiosity. "Well?" he prompted. "Do you find that response satisfactory?"

The maître d' finally looked up at him. "That depends on what you mean by 'satisfactory'. Do I believe you?" He swallowed, but the lump in his throat remained. "Oui. Do I like it?" His expression said it all, yet he admitted, "No. Not at all…" He grasped his forehead. _Babette is a noble_. _Dieu_ , what could she have done to be forced to work as a servant?

"I hope this means you will refrain from trifling with her," Cogsworth insinuated. "She is only staying here until Christmas, and you have caused her enough grief."

Lumière absently rolled his tongue over his teeth, gazing at the corner of the desk before shrugging. "It seems I have no other option," he replied, his voice sounding flat.

Cogsworth nodded. "We're in agreement, then."

"So it appears." He loosened his grip on the chair, flexing his sore knuckles. Without a departing pleasantry, Lumière walked out of Cogsworth's study.

As he thought more and more about it, he wondered how he could have not figured it out sooner. All of the signs were there, and still, he had not suspected it. He knew less about her than he had previously assumed. Could there be more than this?

He liked to think that improbable, but with Babette, anything seemed possible.

Even if he wanted to find out more, which he certainly did, he did not dare ask her. It was true, he had already caused her enough trouble, and at this point, there was no reason to fix what he had broken. She was a daughter of a count, and he was a servant, born and bred. If a future for them had appeared to be conceivable before, it no longer mattered. Next to him sprouting wings and Cogsworth growing a heart, he knew a romance with Babette was now impossible.

Deciding to crawl into bed early, Lumière made his way to his quarters, feeling the empty pit in his center had widened.

* * *

As was always part of the season, an excitement trilled through the servants as Christmas Eve quickly approached. Even when working, the servants showed anticipation for the upcoming holiday, especially when they were decorating. Everyone seemed full of spirit and gaiety while they hung wreaths, holly, and tinsel tastefully all over the banisters, halls, and parlors.

Being in her position, this was Angélique's busiest and most influential time of the year. She had full reign over how the entire château looked. Babette could tell she loved having that kind of influence, even for that short period, but it definitely took its toll. Becoming so exhausted from micro-managing the servants, Angélique hardly had any patience for idle chatter. Babette wished to talk to her about the anxiety she was feeling herself at the rapidly nearing holiday, but realized that sharing another burden with her friend would be inconsiderate in her present state of mind. The decorator had to focus on the immensely difficult task of getting Le Château du Lac in order before the highest aristocracy arrived on the drive.

Even without her previous duties as a server, Babette was never in want of something to do. This was the time of the year when every nook and cranny of the château received a thorough cleaning, as the Christmas Eve ball was the biggest provincial event of the season. However, though she was never bored and had more than one reason to concentrate on her chores at hand, they couldn't distract her from the only loneliness she had known since arriving on the castle's doorstep. Angélique was much too busy to pay any mind to anything but the ball, even to her own well-being, and the necessary estrangement between her and Lumière constantly railed against her thoughts with a misery that she could solely affiliate with longing.

Babette desperately wanted to be happy and joyous like the rest during this merry occasion that served to bring family and friends together, yet she had never felt so apart from the world around her. She was counting down the days until she could finally return home to normalcy and escape the things that had attached her to the château in the first place. Then she remembered that the normalcy of home included her frequent attempts to run away from her title and the responsibilities that came with it.

After a particularly rough day that had failed to drive these torturous reflections from her mind, Babette scrubbed her hair clean in the bath until her scalp felt raw before donning her nightgown and putting her hair in a braid. As she was about to burrow herself under the covers, a few knocks came from her chamber door.

"There's a package here for you, dear," Mrs. Potts called through the wood.

Having been reluctant to answer, Babette now eagerly hopped out of bed. "A package?"

Upon opening the door, the maid greeted a large bundle wrapped in thick paper and tied with string in Mrs. Potts hands, which she held out for her. Without hesitation, Babette took it and began to unwrap it.

"A carriage dropped it off this afternoon," Mrs. Potts informed. "They wouldn't tell me who it was from, though they probably didn't know themselves. We rarely ever get deliveries for the staff here, so I couldn't help but be a little curious as to—oh my, that is _beautiful!_ "

Babette, having taken away all of the wrapping paper that had secured it in its parcel, held up an emerald green silk gown.

The ball was only a few days away, but she hadn't expected to actually be _attending_ it. Since beginning preparations, she had assumed she would be working it. Suddenly, the reality of it all washed over her. How had she thought that when her parents came to see her that they would allow their daughter to work as a servant before their very eyes? They would want to talk with her about her experience, lessons, and progress of having to live in another person's shoes. Babette was being permitted to enjoy herself at the gala event as who she really was… Well, who she was supposed to be.

Babette might despise dresses made for aristocracy, but this one in particular had a simple, understated design and charm. Though it had to be worn with a corset, like any other dress, it was only around the waist, and did not suppress the natural curve of her bosom. Her father especially knew it was her favorite.

She absently ran her fingers over the intricate rose pattern of the layer of lace on the skirt. "It is," she agreed.

Mrs. Potts was filled with wonder at the rich and opulent delivery, and couldn't seem to stem her curiosity. "Do you know where it could have come from?"

The way to telling the truth was too wide open to manipulate a lie out of it. Babette sighed before replying, "My parents."

Facing the astonished housekeeper, she resumed, "Mrs. Potts, there is something you should know, especially since my days in the château are numbered." She had to close her eyes to keep going after Mrs. Potts' expression showed that more questions were forming in her mind. "I was sent here by my parents, the Chantemerle, to learn a little lesson in humility as well as for protection after I… betrayed their trust. I was never a maid before I arrived here, which I am sure must have been obvious, but I did my best to hide my inexperience. No one was to know who I really was, since my name has become quite infamous over the course of a few short years." Taking another deep breath, she pushed on, "My full name is Élisabeth Delphine de Chantemerle, Vicomtesse de Charolles. I was born a noble, raised as one, and will eventually die as one."

Babette kept her eyes trained to the floor, taking a seat on her bed next to her dress. It hadn't even felt like she was referring to herself, but it was the absolute truth.

In an awed silence, Mrs. Potts took a seat next to her. "Oh, Babette, all this time, you kept this all to yourself?"

The maid nodded. "You are the first I've told. I had intended not to tell anyone, and to leave as indiscreetly as I came when the time was right."

"Why, I can hardly wrap my mind around it… You fit in so naturally! I thought what you called 'inexperience' was a bit of nervousness. And you picked up the motions so fast, I could only assume you had gone through them before." Mrs. Potts laughed. "You had us all fooled, you did! That is truly marvelous!"

Babette finally looked up, taken aback by the woman's response. "Do you really mean it?"

"Of course, love, every word!" Mrs. Potts cried with verve. She nudged Babette before commenting with a wink, "I'd like to see any other count's daughter do what you did without a single complaint or slipup."

As her cheeks faintly grew rosy, Babette had to smile as Mrs. Potts' words triggered images of other noblemen's daughters attempting to scrub floors, polish chandeliers, and serve royals trays of food with embarrassing consequences. It definitely made her feel better about herself, having someone like Mrs. Potts tell her that no other person could do what she had done so seamlessly.

"Thank you," Babette said with most genuine feeling.

"Oh, it's my pleasure, dear." Briefly glancing at the gown, Mrs. Potts added, "I suppose you weren't meant to stay for very long."

Babette shook her head slowly. "Non. I was not told when I first came here how long my stay would be, but I have known that I leave on Christmas since November."

Mrs. Potts eyes grew wide. "That means you only have a week! Is it really so soon?"

The maid reacted to this realization the same as Mrs. Potts. Despite how much she had wished to return home, she felt a sadness wash over her at the thought of leaving the château. It was the same as looking at a clock and becoming shocked at how much time had really passed.

"I'm afraid so," Babette confirmed.

Mutually pensive, there was a silent pause until Mrs. Potts began, "Babette, I am sure you feel the same, but I at least want to say… At my age, you tend to look back on the choices you've made and wonder if you've made the right ones, and I can safely say I have very few regrets in my life, even with the difficult decisions I've been presented with." She placed a warm hand on Babette's shoulder, the housekeeper's wise eyes looking into hers. "Just remember there is always a window of opportunity. The trouble is that opportunity is not a lengthy visitor."

As the maid was absorbing Mrs. Potts' meaning, the woman smiled, and as she stood, kissed the top of Babette's head. "Pleasant dreams, dear."

"You, too," she replied softly, watching the cook shut her door behind her.

There was so little time left. Was she really going to let herself wallow in a misery for the rest of the holidays? No one was going to change her situation for her. Babette had to be willing to make it work in her favor.

If she had only one week left to thoroughly enjoy herself as a servant in a king and queen's home, she was going to do it right, her parents be damned.


	17. Coming to Terms

Wandering down the corridors, Lumière would look at the sprigs of holly and banners of wreaths while breathing in the scent of cinnamon and pine needles and still feel as though Christmas was hardly upon them.

Lumière loved Christmas. He became a regular prankster around the holidays, and with the jovial spirit, his frivolity became contagious. The castle residents thoroughly enjoyed seeing the fruition of his harmless pranks unfold. Cogsworth, obviously, was the only exception, but that might be in part to the fact that Lumière would target him specifically. Typically, Lumière would discreetly hang mistletoe over various doorways as an excuse to kiss whichever maid happened to wander under them, but he would demonstrate the same treatment to Cogsworth, popping out of nowhere to grab the majordomo and give both of his cheeks a peck, which disgusted and aggravated the head of the household to no end. Before any doorway, he was found always glancing up for a hint of the infernal mistletoe and try to eliminate it on the spot, calling for assistance to take down the shrub. Lumière was very good about having more copies of the plant reappear again, however. It wasn't unusual to find Cogsworth running under any archway that crossed his path before resuming his purposeful strides with his hands clasped at his back.

Only the Christmas before, Lumière had the brilliant idea to sew sleigh bells into all of Cogsworth's tailcoats. He had enlisted the help of a couple maids to plant the bells in the linings of his coats during the day while Cogsworth was working. The next fine morning, the majordomo had no choice but to wear one of his tailcoats that jingled like Saint Nicolas was approaching. He had the bitterest of expressions on his face that entire day while the servants suppressed laughter as he walked by. He had the former prima donna, Martha Armoire, remove all of the bells from his coats that night, but all could tell even _she_ thought it was hilarious. Lumière was ordered to do the tedious work of extinguishing all of the castle's candles and chandeliers for the following fortnight by himself, but the maître d' thought it had been absolutely worth it. He had kept a sleigh bell or two on him to mess with Cogsworth if he happened to be striding by him for the mere pleasure of seeing the majordomo frantically grasp the edges of his coat to find what bells were left behind.

The thought of that time made Lumière smile, but he found he wasn't motivated to continue his tradition this year. It was not only that there was such a large amount of preparation to be done. That, he could handle. The distance that was created between him and Babette was making him feel surprisingly indifferent to the Christmas spirit. Astonishing as that was, since Lumière had never let a girl dampen his holiday mood, he realized the apathy was difficult to escape.

His best response was to float through the holidays as smoothly as possible until Babette eventually departed to return to her noble parents in La Clayette and become a countess to a handsome, wealthy, land-owning, aristocratic husband.

Lumière sighed as he drew a hand through his hair. This Christmas was going to seem eternal.

* * *

The Sunday before the ball was to take place was not a day off for the servants, for no time could be wasted in preparation. So much was left to be done, according to Cogsworth. His anxiety level was beginning to rise, based off of the rapidity and volume of the way he barked his orders. Enduring that talking pocket-watch was wearing Lumière down to the nub, and his tolerance for the majordomo had already been low. For one day of the month—just one—he wanted to remain in his bed's warm embrace for a little while longer.

It would probably be until Cogsworth came pounding at the door, but if an extra hour or two of sleep could come out of it, it would be worth it.

Lulling back to a deeper sleep, Lumière did not hear his door crack open or the delicate step of a maid's foot before the rush of curtains being swept back woke him with a start.

" _Merde_ ," he gasped as the sunrise shined straight through his first story window. He hated living on the east side of the château.

" _Bon matin, chéri_ ," the sultry voice of the silhouette replied with a smirk.

Lumière tried to blink through the stark daylight to glimpse the shadow clearly, but knew exactly who it was. "Babette?" he prompted groggily, still in a daze. "What…" He referred to the window, at a loss. "My curtains… too bright." He then closed his eyes and rolled over, pulling a pillow from the other side of the bed to hide his face from the light.

Babette giggled at his disorientation. Why had she not given him a wake-up call sooner? "Come now, the day's already begun! You actually should have been awake by now."

"Did Cogsworth send you?" he groaned, his sound muffled through the pillow.

She sat on the edge of his bed. "Non, in fact, I am here on my own business."

Lumière peeked from under his shield to peer at the maid suspiciously. Finally able to utilize the daylight, she was dressed for the weather in a dark wool dress and a fur-lined cloak. As always in his eyes, she was a pure vision.

Berating himself for getting easily distracted, he replied tactfully, "And what 'business' of yours could you want me to participate in?"

Babette shrugged nonchalantly, a corner of her scarlet mouth lifting. "I only wanted to take you on a walk with me."

Not expecting such a response, he furrowed his brow, repeating, "A walk."

Her smile widened. "Oui, through the gardens. Everything is covered in snow, but there is no wind and there is not a cloud to be seen! For all of the work we've accomplished, we should have the privilege to grant ourselves a little break, no?"

Was Lumière hearing what he thought he was hearing? As if the last few weeks had not happened, that she never had run away at the sight of him, she was suddenly inviting him for a stroll—an _illegal_ stroll, by the by. What could have changed her mind?

He desperately wanted to find out.

At his silence, Babette asked coyly, "What? Are you more keen on playing maître d' than keeping me company?"

Startled at the question, he laughed. "Of course not. They are quite capable of lasting a morning without me."

She slowly pulled at the sheets to reveal more of Lumière's bare chest, her fingers barely brushing his smooth skin. "Then I would recommend dressing a little more warmly."

Before he could react properly to her seductive move, she rose from the bed and went to the door. Right as she was closing it, she added, "Meet me by the stables in fifteen minutes." With a wink, Babette shut his door, leaving him to stare after her dumbfounded once again.

* * *

Dressing as he normally would, adding his leather boots, high-collared overcoat, and gloves to his ensemble, Lumière made his way to the stables in a timely manner, not really knowing what to expect from this impromptu activity. It was around nine-thirty, which was a time all servants should be up and working, yet he was lucky enough not to come across any before exiting through a back door to the stables.

The sun had just made its way over the treetops, the gold and rose colors from the sunrise still flooding the sky as its natural cerulean blue was flowing away from the giant star. The forest surrounding the château glowed and its trees' shadows stretched the length of the grounds. The air was crisp and clean, but not a branch stirred. The sun even began to warm his face.

In the stables, the maid was waiting by a burly, chestnut stallion, idly petting his nose with gloved hands. Under her calf-length dress, her heeled leather boots hugged her legs, and over them, her cloak hung an inch above the ground.

Lumière stood gazing at her for only a moment, and he would have been content to stare even longer, but she sensed his presence, her eyes shifting to meet his while her hands paused on the horse's snout.

His breath caught in his throat, but he recovered by flashing his famous smile. "Oh, please, do not let me interrupt," he said, leisurely walking closer.

Babette grinned back at him before averting her eyes, feeling a warmth come to her cheeks. "He was wondering why a girl was waiting around his home while he was resting. I was merely reassuring him before he became too suspicious. He was beginning to huff and puff."

Lumière rubbed the stallion's neck. "He has every right to be protective, having a family to look after."

Her light blue eyes turned to him again, becoming wide. "A family? Where?"

"Why, just next door," he replied. As he guided her to the next stall, his hand instinctively went to the small of her back. He took it away quickly, but she did not react. Babette merely peered over the door to glimpse the sleeping mare and her colt snuggled next to her.

"Oh," she cooed. "How old is the little one?"

"Only a fortnight. It is to be the young Prince's mount once he comes of age."

She tilted her head at the horses. "They are precious." She pulled away from the gate as she said to him, "I got to witness one of my household's horses being born."

Lumière chuckled. "It is not the prettiest of life's wonders."

"It may not be elegant…" She looked back at the mare. "… but after that, I never looked at life the same way. It is as much a gift to create life as it is to, well, live it." Returning her thoughtful gaze to him, she asked, "Would you agree?"

"Oui, but it can also be as much of a curse," he had to remind. "You cannot have the good without the bad. But I believe giving anyone the chance to go through life with all of its sorrows and joys is still a gift in itself."

"Hmm, a very astute reply, monsieur," Babette congratulated, crossing her arms. "How is it that you continue to surprise me?"

Smirking at her, he answered, "Perhaps you do not know me as well as you thought."

"Well, this is the perfect time to get better acquainted." Glancing toward the growing daylight, she added, "Shall we?"

Lumière held his arm to her. "Mademoiselle."

Their smiles matched as Babette slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. Their feet crunched through the few inches of powdery snow as they began following the path of the parterres around the gardens.

"So, Monsieur Lumière," Babette resumed. "Do you recall after the masquerade, you gave me your handkerchief?"

He gave a genuine smile. "Naturally, mademoiselle. How could I forget?"

She felt her stomach flutter as she mirrored him, but continued, "Well, upon closer examination, I read that your initials are J.L.L., and then I realized that you have never mentioned what the first two letters stand for."

He shrugged. "I have told you what I like to be called."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course you have, _mon chère_ , but I would like to know your full name. We are becoming better acquainted, remember?"

"And that would include revealing my own identity? What will be next? My hopes, fears, and deepest desires?"

Babette knew he was playing along, but his words sparked a thirst in her that she had never noticed before. Keeping it from showing, she replied, "Perhaps, but first thing's first. Your full, birth-given name, monsieur, si'l vous plaît."

He watched the path, musing, before admitting, "It is Jean Lucien Lumière."

"There, was that so hard?" she said, smiling as he mock-glared at her. "All teasing aside, _chéri_ , it is a truly noble name. I do not see why you are ashamed of it."

"I am not _ashamed_ … per se. It is just…" He trailed off, not wanting to sound silly.

"'It is just…' what?" she prompted gently.

He furrowed his brow at the word on his mind. "It is just so… for lack of a better term… _common._ "

"'Common' how?" she asked, intrigued.

"How do you think?"

"Well… I admit that I have met many Jeans—"

"That is _exactly_ how I mean. I would hardly be able to set myself apart from the amount of men under the same name. To distinguish themselves from the other, they must use their middle names as well. No, better to eliminate that confusion altogether. I will always introduce myself as Lumière."

Babette gazed at him for a moment, reflecting on his passion that she had only grown to admire, before smiling. "There is more to a man than what he is called, but… in this case, 'Lumière' suits you."

His grey eyes met hers, and the corners of his mouth lifted immediately at the sight of her glowing expression. He covered her gloved hand with his.

In the back of his mind, the reminder that Babette was not really a maid began to blare. Replacing his hand into his coat pocket, Lumière tore away his gaze and cleared his throat before resuming with his usual lighthearted tone, "Now, mademoiselle, I believe it is my turn to pry."

Though his change in demeanor was subtle, Babette had noticed him withdraw. The seed of guilt twitched in her stomach. However, she maintained her casual veneer. Sighing overdramatically, she replied, "If you must, monsieur, but tread carefully."

He couldn't help but chuckle slightly before asking, "Not to be ungrateful for this glorious morning stroll through the snow, but… it was rather sudden. I would very much appreciate an explanation for personally dragging me out of bed."

"Oh, oui, well…" she stalled, becoming a little flustered. "I… really wanted some company is all, and… to be quite frank… you were the first person I thought of."

Lumière raised his eyebrows in surprise, and a twinge of excitement occurred at his core. "Babette, I'm flattered, I must admit. But… I thought that—"

"I know," Babette interrupted, answering his troubled expression, "that I have been distant lately. I have my own troubles to deal with and… I did not wish for you to partake in them. I realized that keeping my distance from you was not helping me accomplish anything so… here we are." Her smile was melancholy, and she turned her head to look at their surroundings instead.

Lumière would most certainly have offered to ease her troubles if he didn't already know what they were. He could not assist her in any way, and that pained him more than he realized was possible. Grasping her hand again, he consoled, "Do not think on it any more, _chérie_. I am sorry to have brought about the subject."

Returning him to her focus, Babette said strongly, "It is not your fault, Lumière, really. Do not apologize. You have every right to know."

Sighing, he flashed a sincere smile. "That is a great relief to hear you say. I don't think I could forgive myself otherwise."

The palpitations in her heart began. "Why not?" she instinctively replied.

His eyes seemed as vast as a perfect storm. "Because it is you, Babette. Why else?"

He gave her his famous smirk as her eyes sparkled from the light of dawn, and they both found they could not turn away this time. With eyes locked, the gardens and world around them began to blur and fade.

Maybe she had let herself become too mesmerized by his stare, but Babette felt herself take a deep misstep and fall forward. Her grip tightened on Lumière's arm, and he was about to haul her up to straighten her when his foot also slipped on the icy ground, losing his balance. Babette fell on her back, pulling him down on top of her.

He maneuvered himself to land to her side, but she still expelled an " _Oof!_ " from the tumble.

Seriously concerned, he asked, "Babette, are you all right?"

"Oui, oui, I am fine," she mustered through a few giggles. "Are _you_ all right?"

Lumière grinned. "I was not the one who tripped, _chérie_. Are you sure you did not hurt anything?"

"Yes, Lumière, merci."

"Well, one thing I did learn from this fall: In a fight between you and gravity, you, _ma chère_ , will not win."

They both laughed, but Babette countered, "I am not the only one who fought with gravity and lost! And I will not be the last." Glancing at the spot she slipped, she asked, "Was that a stair?"

After following her gaze, he met her eyes before answering, "That it was. Maybe we should not have let ourselves get so distracted, oui?"

That mischievous look of his, Babette could not avert her eyes from. Not to mention, his nose was mere inches away from hers. She inadvertently glanced at his lips.

Lumière immediately noticed her want, and without thinking, began to close the minute distance.

Then the alarm rang: _She is a_ noble.

With all of his self-control, he stopped himself. Leaning away and opening his eyes, he saw Babette had her own lids closed, awaiting the taste of his lips. The very last thing he wanted to do was disappoint her, but at that moment, it was up to him to be the responsible one.

Babette's eyes opened when she heard him begin to stand up. Despite how she knew it was better that they hadn't kissed, she felt chagrinned at his resistance. This was the first time she had shown consent. What had stopped him, of all things?

Lumière offered his hand to help her stand, his reserved smile reflecting his choice. Having to resign to his own reasons, whatever they were, Babette put on a face to hide her disappointment. She took his hand, continuously watching him. He attempted to avert his gaze, but failed.

After a few seconds, Babette questioned with a tinge of bitterness, "What?"

"Your hair," he managed, still appearing as if he was contemplating a particularly affecting piece of art.

Her hand went to where her bun should have been, and only found loose curls, now cascading around her shoulders. She looked back to the snow-covered ground to see her opal hair comb from her father sitting there. Snatching it up, she began pulling her hair back.

Lumière gently took her hand away. "Wait."

Babette glanced at him quizzically before he explained, "I rather like it this way." He reflexively swept some of her hair behind her ear. "You look even lovelier when it frames your beautiful face."

Though her cheeks were already flushed from the cold, she felt them grow warmer. The ghost of his hand running through her hair remained.

She shrugged, feeling herself smile. "All right, as long as you approve." She placed the hair comb amongst the curls behind her ear.

Lumière wanted to say something, and she watched him as though waiting for his words, but he simply couldn't. Not after that close call. He would say, though, that she was a beauty beyond anyone or anything he had ever seen, in every possible way. It seemed inadequate in his mind, but it was truly all he could think of.

The look he was giving her was starting to burn. She loved it, but it still made her feel so guilty. After a moment in intimate silence, Babette resigned, "Perhaps we should return to the château. They are probably wondering where we've gone."

This snapped him out of it. Nodding, he promptly replied, "Yes, of course. They are surely losing their minds in worry." He mustered a smile. "We must not keep them in suspense."

Babette made the same effort to return a grin. Without waiting for him to offer, she took his arm again, and with no further exchange, they made their way back to the château.

* * *

Both of them promptly returned to work after a quiet parting. Babette couldn't tell if she felt worse or better from her time with Lumière. She was still disheartened at his resistance to kiss her. Could it be that he knew about her real identity? No. How could he? The King and Queen made it clear it would remain in the strictest confidence, and Cogsworth would surely follow their request. Mrs. Potts was the only other one to know she was an aristocrat, and she would never tell another soul.

But what else could have prevented him from doing what he had longed to do since she had arrived?

The question buzzed around her brain the rest of the day, so much that she hardly caught her name being mentioned in the maids' chatter as they all did some last minute cleaning in the guest rooms.

"Oui, they seemed very cozy walking arm-in-arm in the snow. _Romantic_ , no?"

"Did you see her pretend to fall?"

"As if that was the only way to get a kiss from him. Rather excessive, don't you think?"

"She would have done as well standing still."

"Maybe he can finally move on. She has strung him along for months!"

"How did she do it?"

"Jacqueline!"

"What? You were wondering the same!"

"Everyone was."

"Well, why do you not ask her if you are so curious?"

How did they think she could not hear? Had Babette been daydreaming for so long that they believed they were safe in speaking about her so close within range? This was ridiculous!

Sighing, Babette addressed calmly with her back to them, " _Mes chères_ mesdames," silencing the maids immediately. Facing the group, they all stared at her with wide or narrowed eyes, all surprised she suddenly regained her hearing and returned her head from the clouds. She felt empowerment at the attention rather than wanting to hide. As if she were making it a speech, she said with progressive strength, "Here I am standing before you, able to hear all though I feign not to, and with all that I have heard, I have only one thing I would like to say to you…"

Eyeing each maid in turn, Babette recalled one of her conversations with Lumière, one before the masquerade ball. These women speculated and gossiped and concocted scandalous stories for a thrill, because the only way they believe they could live was through other people's lives. Instead of trying to correct them all on their misinterpretations, which would probably not be accepted by them anyway, why could she not… play along? What harm were these girls? She knew the truth, and that was all that really mattered.

Babette shrugged, pretending to give in. "Everything is true. Everything. Whatever you believe happened, happened. How can I deny what you may have seen with your own eyes?"

The maids glanced at each other with baffled looks. Some of them had never heard Babette speak before then, since she kept so much to herself. A few seemed upset Babette was not storming with rage. To think, that there were people here who received satisfaction from others' misery. Babette could not help but pity them.

Their silence stayed. They seemed to be waiting to hear more.

Babette added with a slight awkwardness, "That is all I had to say… Continue on with your conversations." And she spun back around to resume her work, feeling the warmth finally come to her cheeks. Had she just embarrassed herself? Oh well, this day was almost over, and she was not going to see these women after Christmas.

Whether she made a difference with her statement or not, she never checked, but they resumed their chatter in more hushed tones. She did not hear her name brought up again.


	18. 'Twas the Night Before

Every servant's work schedule was packed so tightly that there were no chances for chit-chat, so Babette had no opportunity to see Lumière before the ball.

 _The ball_.

It was Christmas Eve. The castle was fully decorated and cleaned to perfection, and the gala was mere hours away.

Making her way to the kitchen, Babette anticipated seeing Lumière, even if they would not have a second to spare to talk. She had been thinking about him constantly since their pleasant walk through the gardens. It would calm her to just have his smile directed her way, especially with what awaited her tonight.

But Cogsworth caught her eye, and he motioned her to approach.

Hesitant, Babette glanced at the kitchen doors the rest of the servers were heading to down the hall, but responded to the majordomo's call.

"Oui, monsieur?" she asked politely once within speaking distance.

He released a quiet sigh. "I believe it is time for you to prepare for the ball…" He nodded. "… as a guest."

She hoped her fear was not as imminent as it felt. "So soon?"

"Well, I would think it's as good a time as any, since only the courses need to be cooked." Eyeing her more closely, Cogsworth prompted, "Are you not eager to see your parents again?"

"Non, I am, really," Babette admitted truthfully. _It is what their arrival means that I do not wish to go._ "I am just… a little anxious, I suppose."

Cogsworth smiled, seeming to understand. "Oh, don't worry! I have told them all that you've accomplished here, which they can only be impressed by. They will certainly be proud when they see you tonight."

She mustered to mirror his expression, not very placated by his words, but felt grateful for his effort. "Merci, monsieur. Your recommendations were a great kindness that I know you did not have to do, and I truly appreciate it."

Pretending to be modest but not succeeding, he waved at the compliment as he gripped his lapels. "Yes, yes, well… you're welcome, my dear." Wasting no time, he checked his pocket watch. "Now, I really must return to the tasks at hand. Take the time you need to get ready. As of now, you are no longer under our employment." It was harder to exchange smiles with him the second time. "Happy Christmas."

" _Joyeux Noël_ , monsieur." As soon as Cogsworth's back was turned, Babette dropped her false countenance and made to quickly escape to her bedroom, her stomach twisting into knots all the way there.

* * *

Even with the madness that surrounded him in the kitchen, Lumière could never get the thought of Babette out of his mind.

By some degree, he regretted not kissing her when he had the chance. What could it have hurt? He had given thousands of kisses that do not mean anything to hundreds of girls. Would this kiss really have been any more significant?

It scared him how immediate the answer occurred to him. _Yes._ It would have meant everything, to both of them. That was why it was better he had prevented it. They had no future, so progressing their relationship that was restrained enough as it was would lead to more heartbreak in the process.

Why was this rational stream of thought not leaving him pacified?

Lumière clenched his teeth. There was too much else to worry about and focus on with the chaos around him than gaining or rejecting the love of a woman he could not have.

Time passed at a snail's pace to the point where Lumière was about to lose his composure. Thankfully, a half hour before the guests arrived, he was able to excuse himself to get dressed for the ball.

Adorning his red velvet holiday coat over a bright gold vest, he checked his reflection in the mirror as he tugged his laced cuffs through the sleeves and was surprised at what he saw. He had always prized the ease and buoyancy he wore and expressed on all occasions, no matter how stressful the event. But now, lines creased his brow that he had not noticed he was holding, and… were those shadows under his eyes? He looked thoroughly exhausted.

Shaking off the tension in his shoulders, he strode to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, and tried to massage the stress from his features. This was _Christmas, pour le Dieu_! Joy, merriment, and gladness were what the season demanded, and here he was wallowing in self-pity. _Snap out of it, you fool!_

Rolling his neck one last time, he miraculously felt refreshed. Lumière smoothed his hair and straightened his cravat, assessing his appearance once more. He might have still looked a bit tired, but he buzzed with energy, and he did look quite dashing, he had to admit. Flashing his reflection a signature debonair smile, he left his quarters with more assurance than he had felt in weeks.

* * *

Carriages tracing their paths from the edges of the province rolled and crunched through the snow on the drive as they pulled up to the château's entrance. The highest ranking nobility stepped into the foyer and were led by crimson carpet to the ballroom, which evoked some gasps of wonder from the guests.

Wreaths with holly hung elegantly on the grand chandelier and traced their way up the chain suspending it to the beautifully painted ceiling of cherubs and seraphim. Red, gold, and white garlands braided the lengths of the columns. Eleven medium-sized pine trees decked with silver trim and ornaments of all colors dotted spaces between the columns that led the way to present the two-and-a-half story Christmas tree that sat behind the thrones and table of the King and Queen. Candles as well as rainbows of ornaments and tinsel dotted the Goliath of pine trees, topping it with a brilliant gold, six-pointed star. Lights off of the tree bounced onto the wall of windows behind it, creating its own light spectacle.

Gay laughter and chatter filled the ballroom as the rest of the aristocratic families filed in, catching up on news and complimenting the décor. Not a sour face could be spotted in the colorful crowd.

Soon, King Vincent and Queen Beatrice with Prince Adam on her hand entered in their finest festive attire. Modest, yet regal, they coordinated in color with the King in emerald and the Queen in ruby, while the Prince broke away from the Christmas palette in sapphire. Applause erupted among the nobles as they lined the way to the thrones, already grateful for their hospitality and great potential of the night.

Once in their places, the King, in the jolliest of moods, raised his arms to his guests and proclaimed, " _Mes chers_ mesdames et messieurs, welcome, welcome, and merry Christmas to you all! It is a marvel to see you all again on this most joyous occasion to celebrate the end of another prosperous year. Thank you all for coming tonight. We have a truly exquisite dinner prepared that will be served following the ball, and I hope you all will be staying to attend." He placed a hand on his heart, visibly touched. "This is undoubtedly our most wonderfully prepared Christmas Eve ball that I have seen thus far, and it would not be just if I did not give my everlasting gratitude to the staff of Le Château du Lac for the spectacular job they did in making this evening as beautiful as it possibly could be."

He moved a hand to refer to the majority of the castle's servants standing at attendance in the right wing of the ballroom. The King, Queen, and crowd applauded them with smiles. A few of the servants were taken aback by the recognition, some nodding or waving in thanks. Glancing over, Lumière saw Cogsworth tearing up with joy, and he openly laughed with pure good nature.

"Now, for the ball to commence!" cried the King with glee. "Maestro, if you please!"

The new conductor, who was being addressed by the King directly for the very first time and who had already been shaking with nerves, jumped and dropped his baton. Self-conscious, he swiveled his eyes at everyone as he quickly snatched it back up. He spun around to the band, and as soon as he raised his hand to cue the band, his hand and body steadied instantly, entering his element.

The minuet then began. Following the King and Queen to the floor were the counts and countesses of the province, René and Clarisse de Chantemerle being among them. Soon, the room began to spin as the rest of the nobles entered their synchronized waltzes, toing and froing around the glistening marble floor. Dresses twirled and coat tails flew in a whirl of color, spurring the scents of pine and cinnamon from the Christmas trees about the air.

Finally, the servants could join the dancing. Many paired up and danced along the edges of the room, but Lumière was one of the few to merely watch. As his mind drifted in the sparkling atmosphere, he involuntarily began to imagine himself dancing with Babette, her soft, delicate hands in his, her sweet aroma intoxicating him, her long-lashed, blue eyes absorbing him…

And lo and behold, there she was.

Even with the dozens of people, the lights, the colors, the music happening all around, it all seemed to freeze in time. Standing at the entrance, passing her gaze slowly on the crowd with hands folded elegantly in front of her, Babette stood in simple glory. Her emerald dress had a perfect silhouette— _her_ silhouette. Her figure remained with all of its curves, only getting lost below the waist with a skirt that was smaller than average but had beaded, rose-patterned lace overlapping it. She wore long sleeves that started off the shoulder, accentuating her long, graceful neck. The chandelier's lights made the caramel in her chocolate hair shine in its chignon, relaxed curls draping her exposed collarbone.

Lumière wanted to get to her before any other man could, before she was forever lost to him. This was his last chance to have a moment with her.

But his feet were glued to the floor. The inner turmoil of what was right and what he wanted waged in a fury that was at its most intense yet. Time was running out. She was not going to stand at the entrance for long.

"What are you waiting for?"

His head snapped to where the question came from, and saw Angélique looking up at him queerly.

"What—" he squeaked. Lumière cleared his throat, trying again, "What do you mean?"

She nodded her head towards Babette. "Go ask her to dance."

 _Do not_ tempt _me!_ "I—I can't," was his strangled reply.

"What do you mean 'you can't'? You _want_ to! I know you do!" Concern began to show on Angélique's face, noticing the strain in his expression. "What could be stopping you?"

The reasons still waged a war in his brain. "It is… difficult to explain," he managed, staring after Babette, who continued to gaze into the maelstrom of bodies dancing, appearing very hesitant.

Staring with fervor, Angélique murmured, "Lumière, I have never known you to second-guess yourself, so please, do not start now."

At her words, Lumière looked back at his former lover to find in her eyes a startling depth of caring that he had not known was still there. His lips parted to speak, but he was at a loss for words.

She gripped his hand tightly. "Go to her," she encouraged.

The seas calmed in his mind, the storm passing over. Everything became clear. He was going to hold and dance with the woman he loved, no matter the circumstances.

His mouth broke into a grin and he placed a kiss on her hand. "Thank you, _mon ange_."

Babette began to wring her hands like her stomach had been doing for hours. The search for her parents had to commence sometime, but she had not an inkling of desire to enter the fray. The sight before her was beautiful, with happy couples twirling harmoniously to the orchestra's tune with such life and delight as the lights and colors twinkled around them, but she felt so separated from it that she could hardly take another step. She wanted to leave, but couldn't, because she knew she had to stay. She was too terrified to move.

Then out of the corner of her eye, she found him. In a deep red with gold trim, he wore his dazzling smile for her, and she had never felt such a simultaneous wave of relief and energy before then. A sigh escaped her lungs as she found herself smiling back. Oh, he looked so suave and august.

"If I may be so bold, mademoiselle," Lumière bantered as he came nearer, all insecurities having evaporated, "how is a woman of your grace, beauty, and undoubtable charm without an escort?"

"If you can believe it, monsieur," Babette playfully replied, her anxiety having done the same, "I came without my own. You would not happen to know of any available, would you?"

"Well... off of the top of my head, I can only think of one, but I doubt he would measure up to your standards."

"I will be the judge of that, monsieur." She glanced at the dancers and prattlers alike. "Point him out for me, if you would be so kind."

He followed her gaze, but then sighed. "It seems I cannot make him out from the crowd. Perhaps we will have a better view…" He offered his hand. "… from the floor."

With matching smirks, Babette took Lumière's hand and he led her to the inner ring of the floor before he turned to place his hand at the small of her back while she set her hand behind his shoulder. With ease, they joined the flow, spinning on their own cloud under the golden glow of bright candlelight.

They easily became lost in each other's eyes and features in the first several measures, but then Babette, continuing the joke, prompted, "Shouldn't we be keeping an eye out for that possible escort?"

Remembering, he exclaimed, "Oh yes, the escort! Well, you see, _chérie_ , I have a small confession to make." He paused as though figuring how to phrase it. "Who I happened to be referring to was only me. I hope I did not terribly offend by telling such a lie."

"Oh, monsieur!" she chastised. "To think, you believed lying to me was the only way to get me to dance with you, when all you had to do was ask."

"Oh, _ma chère_ , how foolish of me, I should have known!" Babette giggled at his convincing acting, unable to maintain her dramatic façade as he pleaded, "Tell me, what must I do to earn your forgiveness?"

"Hmm…" she hummed, thinking it over as she bit her lip to hide her smile. "I am afraid you must remain my escort for the rest of the night."

Furrowing his brow in mock determination, Lumière agreed, "That is a cross I am willing to bear."

She pouted, appearing conflicted. "'Tis a shame, I must admit, for will not all of the other girls be disappointed?"

His smirk crept through as he said in a tone that made Babette almost melt in his arms, "What 'other girls'?"

Chills ran up and down Babette's body as their dancing continued, her heartbeat racing.

The tenderly passionate way she looked at him in that instant was how Lumière wanted to always be looked at, by her eyes alone. He had to engrain the image in his memory to hold on to for the rest of his days.

A call from the wings shook them both out of the little world they had built for themselves. "Babette, darling!"

Her heart concaved in her chest, struggling to beat in proper rhythm as she recognized the voice. Facing the call, her father and mother, both respectively looking resplendent in navy and burgundy, positively glowed at the sight of her. Clarisse waved her to come over, beaming in a way Babette hadn't seen in a very long time.

Returning her eyes to her partner, Lumière did the same. Indeed, they were the Comte et Comtesse de Charolles. If reality had not already settled in, it burrowed a painful path into his gut.

But he had to play dumb. Making one last circuit around the ballroom, he inquired, "Was that…?"

"Oui, my p—" Babette cleared her throat. "My former master and mistress."

He gave a curt nod. "I thought I recognized them."

"How—?" Then she weakly laughed, coming out of her surprise. "Ah, right, you lived in La Clayette."

Genuinely, he smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling. "So you have been listening to me."

Delicately smiling back, she replied, "Every word."

For the second time that night, he couldn't speak. Her aquamarine eyes never strayed from his as the song ended. Both parting with incredible regret, they dragged out their bow and curtsey to each other.

Lumière craved to be at her side to reassure her, for he could see clearly she was terrified of confronting her parents. He could not determine why, for those were secrets she had kept well-hidden from everyone, but her reasons were enough. However, she had to face them alone.

He tried to give her some last encouragement with his glance and smile, but Babette already seemed lost in the task at hand, hardly seeing him or anyone before she turned away.

Weaving through the couples as they applauded the orchestra, Babette made it to her parents before the dancers resumed their gliding, the music quickly beginning anew.

When she saw her mother with arms out stretched, Babette had to smile. She hadn't seen her mother look at her that way since she was a little girl, maybe ten-years-old, or younger. Papa appeared just as happy to see her, but his smile did not quite reach his eyes. There was a… sadness in them that she could not comprehend.

Gathering her daughter in her arms, Clarisse cried, "Oh, _ma chère_ , you look beautiful!" She brought Babette out to arms' length. "It seems like so long since we last saw you, and look at you! A woman in mere weeks! Don't you think so, René?"

Her father's gaze was gentle and loving. "Like a hatchling who has found her wings."

Babette knew René would not say a compliment like that unless it were true, and she was very relieved he thought so. He opened his arms to her and she willingly became enveloped in them. She felt him kiss the top of her head. "I really missed you," she realized out loud. "Both of you."

"So did we," Clarisse replied, jokingly shocked at herself. "I did not think I would miss the ruckus you caused! But home was not the same without you."

René nodded sincerely with agreement, the melancholy still visible in his eyes.

Across the ballroom, Lumière could not prevent himself from keeping Babette in his peripherals as he socialized with his fellow servants. Instead of being the center of attention, as per usual, he took to listening to others since his attention was split. The Chantemerle seemed to be having a happy reunion, which was better than it could have been, Lumière reasoned. He still could not help wondering if Babette really wished to return to La Clayette, if she missed her home. Living there as a servant was clearly not more luxurious than a prestigious manor as a viscountess, but it was comfortable and cozy. She was lucky she did not have to live in worse conditions.

Still, he could not blame her for wanting to return to what was familiar. The time when they must part ways and say their goodbyes… The very thought stabbed at his heart. Over his four years at the château, Lumière had not enjoyed his days so much as when Babette had joined the staff. The anticipation of seeing her, speaking with her, teasing her each day, and the madness that she had infused into his mind that raged over him and still continued to do so; He would not trade a second of it for the entire kingdom of France.

"But, go on, darling, how was your stay here?" Clarisse asked. "What was it like?"

"It was… educational," Babette replied with a small laugh. "Everyone was incredibly gracious and kind. I really… really enjoyed my time here, much more than I thought I would." The wringing in her stomach was starting to return.

Clarisse sighed in relief, a hand over her heart. "I am so glad you feel that way. Many are not given the chance to live in another person's shoes. We thought it would be the best for you, and…" She grinned from ear to ear. "… it seems we were right!" Looking about to burst, she finally said, glancing between her husband and daughter, "Babette, we have some very exciting news to tell you."

Babette's smile waned, looking over at her father as well. The twisting in her gut paused. "What news?"

Clarisse bounced a bit on her heels, her fan collar bobbing. "Babette, we have found you… a husband!"

Any trace of a smile was swept off of Babette's face, her heart becoming incased with ice. "A… husband?" A sense of betrayal creeping into her, she glanced over at René, but he was keeping his eyes on his wife.

Lost in her excitement, Clarisse could hardly notice the change in Babette's demeanor. "Yes! And a fine one, Babette, a true and perfect gentleman. He is a very sweet man, and gentle. He will treat you well." Growing a little more serious, she added, "Oh, and he cared not for any of your past transgressions. He was incredibly open to meeting you, and—" She covered a small gasp with her hand before touching her arm. "Babette, he is quite handsome. A wonderful match! I could not have asked for anything better!"

Babette stood still, remembering to take deep breaths. She looked back at her father. "But… I thought that I would have a hand in—"

"Circumstances change, _ma petite_ ," he interrupted rather sternly. "Time was growing short."

"Your father told me the promise you made," Clarisse explained, "and, honestly, it was simply impossible to wait for you to return home to have your opinion. Darling, trust me, he is the crème de la crème. He will make a fine husband."

"Babette, we kept you in mind the entire time," René assured, tone level, convincing himself that he did the right thing. "You will like him, and I am at least familiar with your tastes." His eyes went to the crowd behind her, and Babette had the feeling he was eyeing Lumière from where he was across the hall. Returning his gaze to her, he continued, "Please, you have nothing to be frightened of."

 _Frightened._ Scared, confused, furious, upset… heartbroken. An avalanche of terrifying emotions threatened to crush her any second. The control she tried so hard to maintain for her parents, her peers, she couldn't keep it intact any more.

Tears fell without her consent, and even though her throat was closing up, she managed to say, minding her manners, "Excuse me."

And then she ran, hiking up her skirts and dodging through the thick throng to the exit. She did not hear her parents' cries, the blood having rushed to her ears as she sprinted as fast as she could to the nearest sanctuary, anywhere where she felt safe and secluded so she could wallow in self-pity just for a little while, for who knew how long.

The bright green blur Lumière had been keeping at the corner of his eye suddenly vanished. Glancing casually toward the crowd, he saw it part like the Red Sea at the ballroom's entrance, Babette's skirt flickering through the opening and out of sight.

He instinctually made a step towards her, his mind whirring with what could have caused another hurried retreat. Her parents now had their heads together in a heated debate. Some major disagreement must have occurred.

There was no question anymore. He had to help her calm down. It was all he would be able to do for her before she was gone for good.

Swift and discreet, Lumière left his cluster of colleagues in pursuit.


	19. Impulses

The fears Babette had entertained were now coming to fruition, and much too soon. She wasn't ready for this leap into adulthood. Despite the kind words her parents had spoken, she was still growing. She did not feel like a woman. She felt she had grown, that much was true, but not in the way they thought: responsible, rational, and conscientious.

She had fallen, fallen deeply in love, a feeling she now realized to be real. To have lost it, to have had it snatched from her so quickly without getting a decent chance to revel in it… this could not be how her carefree adolescence ends.

But what else could be done? She would leave in the next morning, meet her betrothed, and marry him within months or less. Maybe she could pretend to be a spoiled brat or extremely promiscuous. Act completely inappropriate. That would end any engagement.

However, that would be the stupidest, most selfish thing she could ever do. Her parents would be humiliated. Being so disgraced, no other nobleman of good name and nature would take her hand in marriage, and thus, most importantly, with no heir, Babette would end her family tree forever.

No, she must greet her future husband with grace and alacrity, finally playing the part she had refused to portray for years. This man would court her with idle yet enthusiastic conversation while they were being watched by both of their families from the keyholes of parlor doors and the windows of their estates. A proposal would come at a respected time determined by both pairs of parents, and after the marriage, she would move into her husband's manor, bear his children—

In a fetal position on the servants' drawing room chaise, Babette pressed her face into a pillow, about to suffocate. She was killing herself plotting her destined future, because that shouldn't belong to her. That couldn't be all she would do with her life. She needed passion and adventure, whatever that meant. She needed comfort and understanding, which that life could not possibly provide. But most importantly, she needed to be herself. All day, every day, without fear and judgment.

This life, a maid's life, had all of that. She could feel it in her entire being. There was nothing she would not sacrifice to claim that life as her own. Nothing… except her family.

She could not abandon them when they had done so much for her. In the complicated web of emotions she was tangled in, Babette could still understand that they were doing what they thought was right. They did the best they could to make it easier for her, but it still wasn't enough. Because they weren't her choices, because it did not really belong to her, she was going to hate her life no matter what. And that was not her parents' fault.

Tears ran freely down her cheeks as she watched the flames dance in the hearth. Her head felt hot, but the rest of her body was cold. The occasional sob found its way to the surface. There was nothing more to think on. It was over. Babette was trapped.

The click of the knob broke through the crackle of the fire. She wasn't ready to face her parents yet. She needed more time.

With face in hands to hide, Babette ordered with startling sternness, "Leave me in peace."

The door quietly locked, but the presence did not leave. "I am afraid as your escort, mademoiselle, that is against my philosophy."

Her hands fell away from her face, again having a wave of relief and excitement wash over at her at the sound of his voice, but the grief, loss, and terror remained. After a futile attempt to wipe away her tears, she kept her eyes on the fire. She felt him approach with caution before sitting carefully on the other end of the chaise.

Lumière struggled with what to say. Asking her if she was all right would be ridiculous, because, clearly, she was _not_ all right. He wanted to ease her mind, which would include getting it off of whatever that was bothering her. So anything to do with her parents was out of the question.

How was it that the man with infamous wit and a reply always stocked for any occasion could be at a complete loss for words when it really mattered? And in front of a girl, no less.

That was the trouble though. This was no ordinary girl.

Lumière finally settled on lightening the mood. "How is it that I always manage to catch you running away from a ball? Perhaps we should begin calling you 'Cendrillon'."

A small, pleasant laugh escaped Babette. She wavered in her response, because to joke in her current state seemed impossible, but it was the first thing that had popped into her head. Only glancing over through her peripherals, she quipped, "If the shoe fits." She heard him chuckle, and that managed to lift some of the weight off her shoulders. Sighing, she remarked, "Actually… I would like to know the answer to that question myself."

Sliding closer, he brushed his fingers against her chin, bringing her to face him. Babette's breath caught at his touch. Her bright eyes were red from crying, and her cheeks were flushed. A few tears hung in her lashes like dew drops, but only one was frozen on her cheekbone. Caressing her jaw, he leaned in to tenderly kiss the tear away. She released her breath in a quiet sigh.

Pulling away only to look into her eyes, Lumière's hand slowly travelled down her neck, shoulder, and arm to her hand as he replied, "Do you not already know the answer?"

She was quickly becoming lost in his hypnotic stare. Her skin tingled wherever his hand had passed. "I…" She forced herself to remember her life outside of this room. She had to stop this before it was too late, before it went too far. _He needs to know the truth._ Gripping his hand tightly, she finished, "I have a confession to make."

His grey eyes became intense at her words. He knew exactly what it was. He traced a circle with his thumb on her hand, encouraging, "Say what you must, _ma_ _chérie_. I am all ears."

This was it. This was all about to end. The hope that they had thrived together would be dashed as soon as the words escaped her lips.

Panic caused her to hesitate. She could not end it like this. Not without…

Fierce desire erupted in her. Giving way to her natural impulses, Babette met Lumière's lips with hers.

Caught by surprise, he stiffened, but it faded away very soon. Her lips were as luscious and sweet as he had imagined them to be. Slow at first, his hands found her waist as hers crept up his vest to his neck, until steadily, the passion grew as lips constantly merged and separated, their sighs deepening. Lumière brought her onto his lap as they both tightened their grasps on each other, any space between them disappearing altogether.

Babette had never felt this free before. The weight of the world that she had born for years had vanished, and she felt so light she might have been flying, soaring into the atmosphere. Is this what love really felt like? She had never experienced anything like it, for as long as she had played the game. To think, all it took was one man, someone special, someone who understood, who looked out for her when no else was, not even herself. She owed so much to him and yet she had never properly thanked him. Every kiss she then gave was imbued with her gratitude.

And Lumière accepted it wholeheartedly each time. He knew he was not the only one who deserved it though. She unknowingly made him strive to be a better man, one who was less selfish and more compassionate. There was so much more to 'love' than what he had believed. Trailing his lips to graze on her neck, he realized his own pleasure hardly mattered to him. He only wanted to make her happy, to make this beautiful, passionate, brilliant woman feel adored. She _was_ adored. She was _loved_.

Although in pure ecstasy, Babette's mind never seemed clearer. The truth of her identity was about to burst forth, and this time she did not want to hold it back. He could help, he could ease her mind and the conflict in it. Tightening her grip on him, she murmured into his ear, "Lumière…"

Retracing his path up her neck, he kissed her mouth slowly and deeply. His thirst for her was barely quenched, and he had the feeling it never would be. His head buzzed from her intoxicating kisses. Staring far into her gems for eyes, he purred, " _Ma chère_ Babette, _mon amour adorée_." His lips were pulled to hers like metal to a magnet, and she melted back into his embrace at his treasuring words.

How she wished she could lose herself in him, but an alarm stressed itself in the back of her mind, desperately calling her to come back to reality. It pained her terribly to have to pull away from him, but the panic was breaking through her euphoric state.

Like yanking an arrow from a wound, Babette tried to make it quick and painless. Caressing his face with both hands, she withdrew her mouth. She could feel in him the urge to rejoin again, but she held him back. Opening his eyes, Lumière saw the grief dominate her gaze as it regained control of her thoughts, and he was forced to crash back into cruel reality as well. As her hands fell away, he took them both from his cheeks and kissed them, refusing to let them go.

"Lumière," Babette began, her eyes filling with tears once more. She just then realized this could change everything he thought about her. She was a fraud. What had she done? Why hadn't she told him sooner? She tried to take a deep breath, but she choked on a sob instead. "Lumière, I have lied to you ever since I arrived on the doorstep. I am not who you think I am." She could not bear to look at him now. "I am not a maid. I was never a maid before this. I am sure it was plain and I knew you could tell. I am from La Clayette, that much is true, I assure you, but… Élisabeth de Chantemerle was never my mistress. It… I—"

"You are Élisabeth, future Comtesse de Charolles," Lumière finished somberly.

Babette stared up at him with eyes the size of saucers. "Where—how—you _knew?_ "

He opened his mouth to speak but Babette furrowed her brow angrily. "This _whole time?_ "

"Babette—"

With blue fire burning inside of her, she ripped her hands from his grasp and tucked them into her elbows. " _For how long?_ "

Lumière sighed. It was his turn to feel ashamed. Looking down at his now empty hands, he admitted, "The day I saw you leaving Cogsworth's office, I had demanded an explanation from him." He shrugged pathetically. "He told me who you really were and… it all made perfect sense." Daring to meet her eyes, he saw hers were now downcast. With a loving hand, he made her lift her gaze, smiling at her, "But I never would have guessed in a thousand years that you were a viscountess, Babette. You played your part well; well enough to fool an entire staff who have been servants all of their lives… including me."

 _Curse him and his pretty words… and those eyes…_ Her anger was dispersed as quickly as it had come. Holding his hand at her cheek, she smirked at him mischievously. "Sweet, innocent, little me, tricked the master trickster himself."

Completely recaptured by this coquette, brought her hand from her cheek to his lips as he replied coyly, "'Innocent' you say? Far from it, _chérie_ … and you know as well as I what your true nature is."

Becoming just as lost in his devilishly handsome charms, Babette pouted adorably. "I am afraid I have not the slightest idea, monsieur. Would you care to remind me?"

"As the lady wishes." Wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close, Lumière swept her hair away from her shoulder to kiss it, savoring each one as he climbed to meet her lips. "You are vivacious… supple… passionate… desirous… and completely… unparalleled… in beauty."

Babette felt herself swoon as his mouth found hers. His deep, tender kisses gave her insides a rush like an ocean's wave was splashing against them. Each time was different, but each time was extraordinary.

Lumière thought he would be the one having a hard time resisting, but he noticed Babette was facing just as much difficulty, if not more. Regret for this affair when she was practically engaged to another was starting to occupy his thoughts more and more. Since she could not pull away, he again had to be the one to bring this to an agonizing halt.

He tried to wean himself from her kisses slowly but surely, finally parting from a very soft kiss as he held her chin delicately with his fingers. Attempting to put aside his own sense of loss, he spoke seriously, "Babette, we cannot hide ourselves in this room forever. I am sure your parents are becoming increasingly concerned at your absence."

Bliss instantly morphed into despair. She flitted her eyes toward her lap. "Why must you remind me?"

Gripping her shoulders, he immediately defended, "Please, Babette, this undertaking is already the most painful I have ever experienced. Do not think for a _moment_ I enjoy doing it."

Falling forward, Babette buried herself in the crook of his neck like a frightened child seeking comfort, and Lumière's resolve collapsed to pieces. He heaved a sigh at his swift surrender, her predicament, and their most unfortunate circumstances. Holding her close, he swept his hand over her hair before kissing the top of her head, resting his chin there as he listened to her deep and sometimes strangled breathing. He did not know what else he could do for her except show her that he was there, that he would remain until he was no longer permitted to stay.

Feeling the soothing rhythm of his breathing, she wished she could indeed hide forever in his warm embrace, a place she was certain she belonged. She had never felt so at home anywhere else.

"Lumière," she mumbled into his chest.

He pulled away slightly to press his lips to her forehead before prompting, "What is it, _mon amour_?"

Finding his eyes, she imparted softly, "I want you to know that… if I had a choice, I would not hesitate to leave my past behind to remain here with you, with everyone." Babette felt as though she were pulling these words from the depths of her soul, and he could sense that immediately. "All I have ever wanted was to live a life where I feel accepted, to be in a place where I feel I can really contribute… and I believe, with an alarming amount of certainty… that place is here."

Her eyes glittered with undeniable truth, and Lumière found himself smiling at her touching disclosure. "If I had the power, I would make sure you lived wherever and however your heart desired. But," he added, grinning wider, "I am glad you would rather stay in a place where I can keep a close eye on you."

Mirroring his smile, she asked expectantly, "How close?"

With noses touching, he whispered, "As close as this," before reducing the rest of the distance with a sweet, calming kiss.

Babette leaned her forehead on his, exhaling sadly. "Lumière, what are we to do? I most assuredly leave in the morning… never to return."

"That is not guaranteed," he tried to convince, but was really just as doubtful.

"What does it matter? Even if I do return, we will never have a moment like this again, not without breaking vows." Her fingers brushed his cheek before trailing to settle over his heart. "I could not bear being so close and yet so far. The very thought of it is painful, and it only doubles thinking of what you will feel seeing me stand next to a husband." Brimming with tears, she shook her head at the thought. "Dieu, I am terrified of the future! I can find no light in it as much as I try and wish to, not in one where you have no part."

Before she became overwhelmed, Lumière steadied her face with his hands, wiping away her tears as he hushed soothingly, "Babette, _ma chérie_ , please. Everything will be all right." Though it only tore at his heart to speak of her engagement, he first and foremost needed to stop her tears and make her feel confident in the life she had to lead. No one else would be able to convince her. "I am not the only man in the world that would want to make you happy. This monsieur, your betrothed, would be a fool not to worship the ground you walk on." Clasping her hands, he inquired gently, "Did your parents tell you anything about him?"

With a sniffle, she gradually answered, "They did… They had nothing but praise." Rolling her eyes at the phrase, she repeated, "'Crème de la crème', they said."

Raising an eyebrow, he asked, "Do you not trust their judgment?"

"Non, not… exactly. He…" Her brow tightened at his mention. "My father… broke his promise."

Although Babette's tone was hardening, Lumière made sure to keep his rational yet calming. "What was his promise?"

"That we would decide together on whom I should wed," she bitterly replied.

"Ah," he sympathized, nodding. "And because you were not part of the decision…"

"The marriage could be disastrous," she concluded, dread returning to her features. "We could hate each other, he could be merely a charming façade, or worse: our union could be… passionless." Her worst fear realized, Babette declared, "I could not live for a day in such an existence, much less… have an heir in those circumstances."

Pushing her last words out of mind, Lumière assured with a genuine smile, "Babette, it will only harm you to think this way. Not to say that your fears are not well-founded, but if your parents approve of this man _and_ they believe he will make you happy… I do not see the need to worry about him being false or cruel." His smile turned into a smirk. "And if he does not fall in love at the sight of you, than I could only suspect that he is not a man at all." Watching a corner of her mouth rise, he continued reasonably, "Let us say that he is what you fear. Do you think that your parents would allow the engagement to remain?"

Responding to his expectant look, Babette slowly shook her head.

"Do you see now, _chérie_? You have nothing to fear of the days ahead."

His grin was contagious, and she found herself smiling too, the ominous clouds that had been brewing around her now nowhere to be seen. How did he manage to blow them away without hardly any effort?

Relieved, Lumière reflected as he swept a curl behind her ear, "As though the sun had finally emerged. I could be satisfied with your smile alone."

Quietly laughing, Babette replied, "Are you sure of that? You had implied something quite different mere moments ago."

Her attempt at banter only saddened him, but he continued to smile despite it. He had to avert his gaze. "Perhaps I had."

Catching his subtle meaning, she pursed her lips anxiously. Guilt was beginning to roil her stomach. "I am sorry it has to be this way."

He meant to say her apology wasn't needed, but the words stuck in his throat. Taking a deep breath, he simply said, "I am sorry, too."

She nodded, keeping new tears at bay. "Should we… return to the ballroom?"

He swallowed what felt like his heart before replying, "I believe that is best."

Standing, Lumière offered his hand. She could barely look at him when she knew she would begin to cry again at a single glance. As she took it, she slipped her hand into his elbow, which he immediately covered with his own. They walked shoulder-to-shoulder through the door and back into the real world.


	20. Severing Ties

The last song of the night came to a satisfying conclusion. The King and Queen both stood and applauded the orchestra, and their subjects followed suit. The conductor glanced over his shoulder, looking bewildered at the sudden praise, but he faced them fully and nervously bowed, a sheepish grin on his face as he gestured to the band.

As the King announced and directed the guests to dinner in the dining hall, Cogsworth tried to spot Lumière's slender frame amongst the throng. The party began to exit, following the servants who enclosed the doorway down the corridor, and the majordomo still couldn't find the maître d'. He saw the Chantemerle, who looked terribly worried, hanging behind those departing, and he knew immediately who that contemptible excuse of a gentleman was off with.

Trying to keep his fury from view, he began approaching the troubled pair, who quickly noticed his coming.

"Cogsworth," Clarisse called, her features contracted in concern. "Have you seen Babette?"

"No, madame, but I have a very firm suspicion of who keeps her company."

Upon entering the ballroom, Babette detached herself from Lumière, even though it felt as though she were leaving half of her heart behind in the process. They both were surprised to see the ballroom entirely empty save for her parents and Cogsworth. Giving each other a nervous sideways glance, they proceeded to continue in, both awaiting a punishment from their superiors.

Their entrance made the count, countess, and majordomo swivel their heads simultaneously in their direction. Cogsworth narrowed his eyes at Lumière, who stared indignantly right back. He regretted nothing, no matter what Cogsworth's reprimand would be.

"Élisabeth Delphine!" Clarisse scolded, her concern turning cross. "You were gone for almost an hour!"

This caught Babette off-guard, and Lumière just the same. "I was?" she replied.

"Why did you run off like that?" her mother questioned.

"Please, Maman, not now," Babette begged with embarrassment.

René, whose eyes had hardly strayed from Lumière, asked him, "And who might you be, monsieur?"

Having been watching Babette, the maître d' was a little startled by her father's address. Clarisse's scrutiny fell on him at her husband's call as well. "Lumière, monsiegneur." He inclined his head respectfully with a slight bow. "At your service."

"Lumière is our maître d'," Cogsworth informed, staring daggers at the servant, "and should be attending to the feast at this very moment."

"My apologies for my blatant disregard," Lumière directed back at Cogsworth, his spite only visibly through his stare, before looking to the count and countess, "but I had to be certain Babette returned to you safely." Glancing at Babette, who was trying to avoid his gaze, he complimented with a hint of tenderness, "She has become a marvelous addition to the staff over the course of her short stay, and she will most certainly be missed." He inclined his head to her parents once more. "If you'll excuse me." Trying to catch Babette's eye at the last minute but failing, Lumière strode out of the ballroom. She intently listened to his diminishing footsteps as they grew further away, keeping her eyes steadfast on a marble tile as she fought an impending wave of tears.

"If it is all the same to you," Babette abruptly began, her voice miraculously managing not to crack, "I would appreciate very much if I could turn in for the night. The fatigue of the day has gotten to me."

Clarisse exchanged glances with René, who gave a resigned nod. She heaved a tired sigh, saying to Babette, "You may go. Good night, dear."

With a small curtsey and smile, the former maid replied, "Merci," before saying to all, "Bonne nuit." Spinning on her heel, she left the ballroom at a normal pace, but when she knew she was out of their sight, she grasped her skirts and sprinted to her quarters, the wells of her eyes finally overflowing.

Clarisse turned to Cogsworth curiously. "There was not anything you forgot to mention in your letters, was there?"

Cogsworth's mustache twitched. "To what do you refer to, madame?"

The countess gazed at where Babette had departed, the lines in her forehead becoming more defined as her mind tried to figure. "I am not sure."

René came out of a reverie of his own, snapping his head to the majordomo before questioning directly, "What kind of relationship has Babette had with that man—Lumière, was it?"

These were the exact questions Cogsworth had been trying to avoid. Lumière was _definitely_ going to regret this later. The gears in his brain churning rapidly, he replied, fumbling a bit, "Not—Nothing too serious, I assure you. I would know personally if there was anything unprofessional going on, but… I do admit that they have become close since your daughter arrived, despite all the conflicts they had."

At the word, Clarisse returned him to her focus. "'Conflicts'?"

A little relieved at this inquiry, Cogsworth welcomingly explained, "Why, yes, conflicts. They tended to disagree rather often."

While René appeared to be grappling with the information, his wife took a deep breath. "Well… that is all water under the bridge now, it seems." Looking over at her husband, she recognized what he must be thinking and asked, "Shall we go to dinner, dear?"

Becoming resolute, René looked to Cogsworth one last time and asked, "Could you arrange to have our carriage prepared early tomorrow morning? We plan to leave no later than at nine."

The majordomo nodded. "Of course, monseigneur. It will be as requested."

"Thank you." And the count had his wife take his arm before Cogsworth led them to the dining hall to finish out their evening.

* * *

After an hour or so of tears followed by a hot bath, Babette stepped past her packed luggage and collapsed on her bed, wishing her body could melt into the linens and feathers until her overwhelming dilemma vanished into insignificance.

There was no longer anything to decide. She knew what she must do. But it was indefinitely going to leave a gruesome scar that would never be able to fade.

A quiet moan escaped her lips, and she proceeded to bury herself into her sheets until she was a ball. Sleep would have been a welcome escape from her loneliness and turmoil, however brief. Babette tried to set aside her fear of the morning, when her fate would be final.

* * *

_Knock, knock, knock._

She clenched her eyes tighter, gripping her pillow as if it were a lifeline.

"Babette?" came the high tenor resonance of the majordomo's voice, muffled by the mahogany.

With a prominent groan, she opened an eye to the door as it opened a crack and Cogsworth's head peeked inside.

"Your parents request you be ready at nine o'clock sharp," he informed. "Make sure you do not keep them waiting."

She had not the energy to voice a reply or gesture comprehension, but merely gave a huge sigh. Getting out of bed was going to take an amount of self-discipline that she was positive she did not possess, yet what choice did she have? She had to confront her decision sooner rather than later.

With a certain touch of sympathy on his features, Cogsworth left her to prepare for her departure.

As she gradually awoke, the fear of the morning became more pronounced. She was going to hate cutting the ties that bound her to one of her worlds. One last time, she wished she could have the best of both, and prayed it would someday happen, no matter how impossible it seemed.

Robotically dressing and prepping her appearance, Babette left her room and shut her door with deliberate slowness.

"Good morning, dearie!"

The former maid looked up the housekeeper, warmth and empathy emanating from her as she brought Babette into her embrace.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Mrs. Potts asked gently as they separated.

"I'm… doing my best," Babette mustered. She realized her shoulders were drooping forward, her invisible weight now showing on her exterior, and she attempted to straighten as she continued with a miniscule smile, "I was hoping to see you again so I could thank you for everything you've done. I am sorry I will never be able to repay your kindness."

Mrs. Potts immediately hugged the girl again. "Hush those apologies, love, there's no need for that." Holding her at arm's length, she insisted, "You know what you are?" She clasped her hands in hers. "You are a beautiful, intelligent woman, full of poise and with a heart full of love. There is nothing in this world you cannot be." Placing special emphasis on her words, she continued, "Remember, to find happiness again is not a sin, and you will not betray the people you love in the process. Just don't forget about them."

A sting was forming behind her eyes, but Babette held it back well. "I could never," she vowed.

Mrs. Potts grinned, patting Babette's hands. "I wish the best of luck to you, Babette. I hope I will see you again in the near future."

Returning the grin easily, the viscountess agreed, "Likewise, madame. Merci encore."

"You're very welcome, dear." With a final squeeze of her hand, Mrs. Potts and Babette respectively resumed their paths to their destinations.

* * *

Her delicate step in leather-soled flats made no noise in the cavernous, marble and jade-coated library. Babette slowly spun across the floor as she took the incredible sight of the room in for the last time. She knew she would never encounter another library of this grandeur and prestige at any other point in her life.

Sitting in her usual, cozy niche as Babette had hoped, Angélique glanced up from her book of Shakespeare's sonnets at the other's presence. At the sight of Babette's melancholy expression, the decorator instantly set her book on her seat and ran to tightly hug the former maid.

"Please, _ma chère_ , frown no more," Angélique pleaded as she pulled away. "You have so much more to live for than what is within these walls."

Babette stared at her, perplexed. "Wait, how do you know I am leaving?"

With a small shrug, Angélique grimaced. "Lumière told me last night."

At his mention, Babette's face fell. "Oh… How was he… last night?"

"I only had asked what was wrong since he appeared in the gloomiest of moods after having danced the night with you, _chérie_ , and that was his reply." As Babette heaved a depressed sigh, she tentatively asked, "Have you seen him since?"

Shaking her head, Babette answered numbly, "It is probably best this way."

Taking her hand in comfort, Angélique attempted to assuage, "It may take time, years even, but with you willing, your heart will mend. I promise you that."

Babette's smile trembled at first, but she held it steady to say as she squeezed her hand, "I will remember your words, _mon amie_ , and everything else you've done for me."

Smiling in return, Angélique ensured, "You have done more for me than you realize. It is the very least I can do."

After embracing her ultimately, Babette sincerely said, "I hope our paths cross again."

"As do I." As Babette was descending the steps, the decorator curtsied and imparted at the top of the stairs, "Au revoir and bonne chance, Madame Chantemerle."

Stopping in her tracks, Babette twisted to gaze in wonder behind her and see Angélique give a smirk and wink at her before vanishing to return to her niche.

Continuing her descent, Babette couldn't help but laugh at the awe Angélique inspired. She had put the pieces together all on her own. How and when was out of the question, and she had hid it so well without fail. Babette concluded that Angélique was one of the most brilliant people she had ever known.

* * *

With all of her belongings packed, Babette shut her bedroom door for the last time. Staring at the handle, she forced herself to let go. Lifting the luggage, they felt heavy in her hands, but she urged herself to walk away as little by little she left the château behind. Her steps felt unsteady and hesitant at first, so she put her shoulders back and held her chin high, slowly quickening her pace.

"Babette!"

Almost to the end of the hallway, Babette came to a screeching halt, her momentum dissipating in an instant. Her grips tightened on her bags as her heart began to race, afraid to turn around.

Lumière wished he hadn't called to her as soon as her name had escaped his lips. He did not know how it had in the first place. He had come down to possibly say goodbye since he had finally gathered enough nerve. Seeing her walk away… he wasn't sure what it had been. Was it terrifying to watch her stride away with luggage in hand while knowing it was for the last time? Perhaps. It was definitely painful, and it was a kind of pain that was deep-seated and dull until it was reminded of its cause. It had begun only the night before, but when it would end was indefinite. Maybe in that was where part of the fear came from.

He saw her stop and turn rigid as he waited for her to face him, but she didn't. Closing the dozen feet between them with careful, deliberate steps, he finally closed the infinite rift and found his voice again to say intimately, "Babette."

She closed her eyes as she pursed her lips at hearing him murmur her name, which was sweeter to listen to than she should take pleasure in, before releasing her breath in a sigh. She slowly turned to face him but her eyes remained on the carpet until she said, "Yes, Lumière?"

If he thought he had been at a loss for words last night, it had been a trifle compared to now as a muddle of awful ways to begin what he wanted to say swirled through his mind. He thought about lightening the mood again but stopped himself partway through his phrase. "You were not—I mean, you are… leaving quite early, I see."

Babette felt her cheeks turn pink as she found it hard to keep constant eye contact with him, empathizing completely with what he was feeling. "Oui." She shrugged casually but it felt rather helpless instead. "My parents' demands."

He nodded demurely. "Perhaps you should… not keep them waiting."

"I…" As Babette looked full on, she realized he was finding it just as difficult to meet her eye. "No, I… shouldn't."

Neither moved, however, as both found other parts of the corridor to stare at. Why they were trying to prolong the inevitable baffled them both, but they still felt more content to anyway. Babette's arms were starting to ache from the weight of her luggage.

All of a sudden, Babette whispered, "I am so sorry for this."

Expelling a small sigh, Lumière gently admonished, "Babette…"

"No," she continued firmly, letting her luggage thud on the scarlet carpet as her shining eyes bore into him. "I know very well this is all of my fault. I willingly and adamantly take the blame for everything—"

Sternly, he tried to stop her. "Babette—"

But she overrode him, exclaiming, "And do not try to deny it! There is nothing you can say that will change my mind!"

As though he were going to scold her, he took a moment to stare flintily back into eyes that managed to hold in their tears. His words were drawn-out and clear. "Babette, I forbid you to carry all of the blame on your shoulders, and do you know why?"

With only pride fueling her to match his gaze, she asked, "Why?"

In one slow step, he practically stood toe-to-toe with her, and without averting his eyes for a second, he grasped her left hand and brought it to his heart. A rapid beat drummed against her palm, and she glanced at his chest for a moment in surprise. It was in perfect accord with her own. "Because," he murmured, his stoic tone gaining tenderness, "it takes two to fall in love."

 _Love._ Her breath caught at the word. It was such a fear-inducing yet elating term, but it was too much to bear on Babette's ears as she easily slipped her hand from his grip to turn away and keep her tears from his sight. She reached for her bags. "Goodbye, Lumière."

" _Babette_ —" Startled at his own urgency, he took a deep breath to try and calm himself. "Wait just a moment more." When she did not face him again, he whispered in earnest, "Please, _chérie_."

With lips in a tight line, she snapped her head around. She was still not sure where to place her anger: him, herself, her parents, the world? "Why? What more is there to say?"

"'To say'?" he repeated with a tight smirk. "I do not think words have any more significance now."

Easily catching his implication, being that it was on her mind as well, Babette shook her head. "That would not be wise."

Shrugging, he countered rationally, "Last night was not wise, yet… here we are."

Her face the epitome of uncertainty, Lumière added longingly, "Please, _ma chérie_. All I ask is that we make our last moment count."

Babette assessed his gaze for a long moment, calculating her wants and reasoning. She broke eye contact before closing the distance in two deliberate steps, running tentative fingers over the dark gold fabric of his vest. Fingering the buttons, she met his eye again. "Just so you know… you are not the best man I have met. Far from it actually," she annexed with a little laugh, and he had to concede with a smirk. "But, Lumière… you are most certainly my favorite."

His smile was dazzling and genuine. "I could say the same about you, _amour_."

Mirroring his grin, she brought his hands to hold her waist before locking her arms around his neck. Lumière was right; they had to take advantage of the moment, one that would never come again in the same circumstances. As she leaned in, he pulled her body as close as he could to his. Their lips were only a hair's breadth away when—

The sound of footsteps breached Babette's ear, and she started like a doe at a hunter's approach. She instinctively turned away, and with swift, gentle force, pushed Lumière aside, creating an appropriate, affable distance of a couple feet. Crossing her arms, she stared to the carpet once more, feeling the beams of Lumière's hurt glare on her forehead, as she heard the steps come from around the corner behind her.

"Ah, there you are!" Cogsworth exclaimed in a particularly high range, clearly in a rush. "Babette, your parents are at the carriage." Eyeing Lumière, who adamantly maintained his stare on the viscountess, he asked coolly, "Saying your goodbyes?"

Facing the majordomo to soften the harshness of Lumière's eyes, she affirmed, "Oui, monsieur. Please tell my parents I will be only a minute more."

Cogsworth furrowed his eyebrows. "Mademoiselle, you have already kept them waiting—"

"Please, Cogsworth." If Babette didn't feel so trapped and confined between these two men, she might have fallen to her knees. With eyes shining, she added steadfastly, "A minute is all I need."

A rapid sigh escaping his nostrils, Cogsworth gave in. "Fine! And not a minute more." As he stomped away to relay the message, he muttered to himself, "I don't know how I've become so soft…"

Blinking away the moisture in her eyes, Babette prepped herself for Lumière's attack before facing him again, but was instead met by his intense embrace that almost knocked the breath out of her.

Stunned at this unexpected reaction, she said into his shoulder, "Lumière—"

"Do not _ever_ push me away in that manner again, Babette, or I—" He was cut off by a strangled sigh as he petted her hair, and slightly loosened his hold on her to say with a tiny laugh, more composed, "I do not think you realize you have the ability to make a man cry from such an action."

Becoming flabbergasted, Babette pulled away from the crook of his neck to glance up at him pinching the bridge of his nose nonchalantly while a tear hung from the edge of his jaw. "Oh _chéri_!" she cried, immediately kissing the tear away but continuing to shower his cheek with kisses. "Please forgive me! Y—you know I did not mean to—to _hurt_ you, I only—"

Having to smile at her fluster, he assured, "Yes, yes, I know, _mon amour_ ; that old clock has incomparable timing. Now… where were we?"

An airy giggle escaped Babette's lips before it was silenced by his. Slow and amorous, neither wanted to believe it would be their last kiss, that the beginning was already the end. Even though they tried to prolong it for as long as possible, a kiss had to end sometime. There could not be pleasure without pain.

In unison, both sadly drew apart. As his hand brushed the petal-soft skin of her cheek and neck, he looked into her fathomless eyes and whispered, "I have kept you to myself long enough. Go now."

With eyes starting to shine, she kissed his palm, and gripped onto it as she walked away until it was only their fingertips before she let him go. She took hold of her luggage and lifted them with a deep breath, shaking all the while. She was going to walk away, and not look back.

Straightening her spine to regain some of her confidence, Babette continued down the hall with all the strength she could muster. Her steps suddenly felt incredibly heavy, as if a ball and chains were suddenly strapped to her ankles. She somehow knew they were going to remain, and would need to grow accustomed to their weight. It was best for it to be sooner rather than later so that no one else would notice her strife. She would at least have to try.

At the corner, she hesitated, fighting herself to take one last glance.

Clenching her teeth, she cried in her mind, _Damn it all, I need to!_

Her heart rammed in her chest and she could hardly breathe, but looking over her shoulder, Lumière remained rooted to the spot with fists clenched from his exertions of self-restraint. But, standing straight and tall, his expression was determined. He stared her in the eye, and called upon that ridiculous smirk of his to say, "I knew you would not leave without a final glance."

A giggle from her came out of nowhere, and the tears she had been holding back flowed down her cheeks, but he had gotten her to smile one last time. Shaking her head at the phenomenon that would always allude her, she continued on her path away from home to the carriage, biting her lip to calm herself. It was time to put on a different face for the rest of her life.

As soon as the tip of her cloak vanished, Lumière's heart clunked to the floor as the smile ran away from his face. Getting to see her grin at the last moment had been worth the effort, but now he felt spent. The silence pervaded the empty corridor, and he began to worry if he should have said something more, something with more weight, more importance. Should he have told her he loved her, despite his uncertainties? Would that have been his only chance?

No. Such a confession would have caused more of an attachment when the cord needed to be cut. Besides, he didn't know for sure. Was he in love? Absolutely, and without question. But did he love her? That remained to be proven. According to the theory he wholeheartedly believed in, if the pain he felt at that moment did not diminish over the course of the next few months as he delved deeper into his duties as a servant and attempts at rendezvous with other women, then it would become a fact and the undeniable truth that Babette de Chantemerle, the Viscountess of Charolles, would have stolen and most likely forever keep the heart of Jean Lucien Lumière, the modest maître d' of Château du Lac.

 _If God be willing, and if He is indeed merciful, He will not let such a misfortunate and wretched fate fall upon so simple a man as I,_ he silently prayed, adding desperately, _Oh_ Dieu, please _do not let that fate be mine!_

Opening his eyes, he gazed from the window to the drive below, watching Babette hand the luggage to her footman. Before his undying love for her was confirmed, it could not be denied that any vision of her, real or imaginary, would induce the same feelings of desire and compassion that he would, from then on, endeavor to numb. Though he did not wish to suppress his emotions, especially those that had spurred such a want for growth in him, it was only necessary in order to protect himself from the uncertain.

Babette took one more look at the glorious castle. Was he watching her now through one of its many stained-glass eyes? Or did he retreat to begin recovery?

She shook the thought away, and the rest to follow. Starting now, her mind would be made clear of whatever hindered her renewed life as a future countess.

But she couldn't stop herself from breathing in the sight and essence of the château before entering the carriage after her family. She missed it and its inhabitants already.

As she approached the château's front windows, Angélique saw Lumière's familiar silhouette leaning against one of its frames. She decided to silently join him, sweeping some of the scarlet curtain aside to follow where his eyes were firmly fixed. Watching Babette climb into the carriage, Angélique sighed in sympathy. She had thought, had practically been sure, that Babette would have done something to keep herself here, whether it would be successful or not. But it looked like her mind had been made up. Then again, Babette was more rational than others gave her credit for. A newfound respect for her bloomed in the decorator.

As the carriage drove away, she glanced over to see Lumière's gaze cling to it. She touched his shoulder with whatever encouragement he could attain from it, but he didn't react or emote that it was received. But as she slowly took her leave from the glass, he hung his head.

The forest engulfed the carriage from the view of the castle.

_To be continued…_


End file.
